Day after day, a dull indigo blue possessed it, deepening with night into duller purple, as if the whole heavens were gathering into one big thundercloud, which menaced but never broke.

And in the hush of those nights a listener could almost fancy he heard, between whiles, the rabbits stirring uneasily in their burrows.
By-and-by the bonfire on the wastrel appeared to be giving out sparks of light which blazed independently; yet without decreasing its own volume of flame.

The sparks came dancing, nearer and larger: the voices grew more distinct.

The revellers had kindled torches and were advancing in procession to visit other bonfires.

The torches, too, were supposed to bless the fields they passed across.