Read "The Seven Streams" by Warwick Deeping online for free on Textopian. Full text with search, annotations, highlights, and AI-powered reading aids.
Evening descended, and the green valley was full of golden light. Afar on the hills the great trees dreamed, dome on dome, touching the transient scarlet of the west. Ilex and cedar stood like sombre giants in a shimmering sea. The eastern slopes gleamed in the sun, a cataract of leaves plunging into gloom. The forest was full of shadows and mysterious streams of gold, and a great silence shrouded the wilderness save for the restless thunder of the stream.
Tristan had gone to bring the horses to a thicket on the western bank near the island. Moreover, he had played the Samaritan to Pandart, had twisted the disjointed head of the bone back into the socket, even as he had learnt the trick from a smith in Purple Isle. With the calm of the declining day, some measure of peace had fallen upon Tristan's soul. He was a sanguine being, brave in a rallying, quick to recover heart. Columbe was dead, and he had wept for her. Vengeance was to be thenceforth his life's purpose.