Kitabı oku: «Vineta, the Phantom City», sayfa 9

CHAPTER XIV.
THE HUNTING-PARTY

Weeks rolled away, but the arrival of the young landlord had produced little change in Villica. His old passion for the chase seemed to have again taken full possession of him: he was seldom found in the castle, his days being mostly passed in roaming about the forests. He did not appear regularly at meals, his jaunts often taking him so far from home that he was obliged to lunch at some forester's place or farm-house. He usually returned late, and spent the evening in his own apartments with Doctor Fabian, the only person whose society he sought. He entered his mother's drawing-room only at rare intervals, and always reluctantly.

Leo had ceased accompanying his brother to the chase; the two could not hunt together, their manner of engaging in the sport was so different. In hunting, as in everything else, the young prince was fiery and venturesome, but not persistent; he shot whatever came in his way, he was deterred by no obstacle, and danger lent new zest to his enjoyment. Waldemar, on the other hand, followed the game with tireless energy, never thinking of food or rest, and imposing hardships upon himself which only an iron frame could endure. Leo thought such persistence wearisome and useless, and when he found that his brother preferred to hunt alone, he only too gladly allowed him that privilege.

Although Waldemar saw and conversed daily with his mother and brother, he could not be regarded as one of the family. His unconquerable reserve and his aversion to familiar intercourse increased rather than diminished. After a stay of several weeks at Villica, he was not one step nearer the princess or Leo than on the day of his arrival. This state of things was highly gratifying to the Princess Zulieski; Waldemar's daily absence perfectly coincided with her hopes and plans, and he was far more affable than she had expected. He even carried his courtesy so far as to call occasionally at his uncle's castle, and intercourse between the two estates became more frequent than ever. The count and his daughter often drove over to Villica, although they seldom met its master.

One thing only marred these very pleasant and satisfactory relations: this was the coldness and evident hostility between Waldemar and Wanda. The princess, after many fruitless attempts to act as mediator, concluded to let "the two obstinate children" have their own way, so long at least as there was no open quarrel between them. Waldemar evidently made an effort to be gracious and amiable to his uncle, and he gratified all his relatives in one particular, if in no other,–he kept away from them as much as possible.

The princess had made arrangements for another of her large hunting-parties, which brought together the Polish gentry of that region far and near. The invitations had all been accepted, and the party would be larger than usual. Waldemar having been consulted in regard to the arrangements and invitations, had begged his mother to assume the entire responsibility, his acquaintance in the neighborhood being limited, and his tastes being averse to these large social gatherings. The princess, although full of polite regrets at the loss of his assistance, was really in her element; she dearly loved to rule in all matters both great and small, and wanted no rival near her throne.

The morning of the eventful day dawned cloudy and threatening; when the sky at length cleared, so that the hunt could be safely decided upon, the hour was unusually late. The princess and Leo stood in the centre of the large reception-room to receive the farewell greetings of the party, and as the young prince assisted his mother in doing the honors of the house, a stranger would have taken him for the master of Villica. Waldemar meanwhile remained unnoticed at a window, in earnest conversation with Doctor Fabian. He seemed to regard himself as merely his mother's guest, and as he claimed no deference for his real position, he received none. He was sure of a respectful greeting as he came and went, and was listened to attentively whenever he chose to take part in the conversation; but he was landlord of Villica only in name. None attempted to approach him familiarly, or to pierce the mail of his obstinate reserve. There seemed to be a mutual understanding; the visitors took no more notice of him than he of them.

"Pray do not ride in your usual reckless manner, Leo," said the princess, as she took leave of her younger son with a fond embrace. "You and Wanda rival each other in adventurous daring; be cautious, I beseech you." She then turned to her elder son, and offering him her hand as a mere friend might do, she added, "Good-bye, Waldemar; you are no doubt in your element to-day."

"Indeed I am not," he replied, abruptly; "large, fashionable hunting-parties are not to my taste. The hunters and beaters go before these fine ladies and gentlemen, and run down the game for them, so that neither effort nor skill is required."

"Waldemar is happy only when alone with his beloved rifle," said Leo, laughing. "I really believe he dragged me through swamps and underbrush, and exposed me to hunger and thirst and all sorts of disagreeable things, merely to get rid of me as soon as possible. I am no novice at hunting, but I soon tire of the hardships Waldemar calls pleasure."

"I told you beforehand that my mode of hunting would not suit you," replied Waldemar indifferently, as the party left the room.

A portion of the hunters had already assembled upon the broad lawn in front of the castle; among them were Count Morynski and his daughter. The gentlemen were in raptures over Herr Nordeck's fine saddle-horse, which had arrived two days before. All agreed that the young landlord had shown great taste and judgment in its selection.

"A splendid animal!" said the count, as he patted the slender neck of the horse, which stood patient under his caresses. "Waldemar, is this really the wild Norman you used to ride in C–? He was then so dangerous that your groom was always in mortal terror when holding him by the bit."

"Norman was very young then," replied Waldemar, coming up with his brother; "he had just begun to wear the saddle. He has since become accustomed to control, and I myself am not so adventurous a rider as at that time. You can ask Leo about the animal's docility; he attempted to mount Norman yesterday."

"He is a demon of a horse!" exclaimed Leo, excitedly. "I believe you have trained him to act like a mad creature whenever any one else sets foot in the stirrup. But I will conquer him yet!"

"You had better not try it; Norman will obey no one but me."

Leo's face glowed as he met Wanda's eyes, which imperiously commanded him to refute this assertion. The glance stung him, and he said, impetuously,–

"Norman's obstinacy is the result of your own training, Waldemar. I have not taught my Vaillant any such tricks," he added, pointing to a handsome sorrel nag, held by his groom, "but you might succeed no better with him than I did with Norman. You have never cared to make the attempt; will you do so to-day?"

"No," replied Waldemar, coolly. "Your horse is very unruly at times; you indulge him in all sorts of antics, and in a stubbornness which I could not endure. I should be obliged to misuse him, and I would not like to treat an animal you are fond of in such a manner."

"You had better make the experiment, Herr Nordeck," said Wanda. She had never said "Cousin Waldemar" but once. "Indeed, I believe you ride nearly as well as Leo."

"I thank you for the compliment, Countess Morynski," he replied, bowing profoundly.

"The Germans are very fair riders," she added, in a still more irritating tone; "but in this accomplishment, as in most others, they are far behind our Polish gentlemen."

Nordeck's only answer was to say to his brother, "Will you resign your Vaillant to me for this one day, Leo? Are you willing to expose him to hardship, perhaps to danger?"

"To danger!" reiterated Leo, with flaming eyes.

"Do not insist upon it, Herr Nordeck," interposed the count; "the horse is wild and unmanageable, and Leo has accustomed him to all sorts of mad freaks and rash ventures, which a strange rider, even though the most expert, cannot understand. He will be sure to throw you."

"But if Herr Nordeck is willing to run the risk, let him do so!" said Wanda, obstinately.

The count gave his daughter a reproving glance, but Waldemar took no seeming notice of her words. "Have no fear, Count Morynski," he said; "I shall ride the horse. Your daughter wishes to see me thrown: I may allow her that pleasure. Come, Leo."

"I entreat you to desist, Wanda," whispered the count. "Waldemar hates you bitterly enough already, and still you go on irritating him at every opportunity."

The young countess stroked the folds of her velvet riding-dress with her whip. "You mistake, papa," she said; "Herr Nordeck does not allow himself to be irritated,–least of all by me."

"Then why do you continually attempt it?"

Wanda made no reply. Her father was right; she neglected no opportunity of taunting the young man, who had once flown into a passion at every trifling word, but whose stolid composure she could not now ruffle in the least.

The other gentlemen had become deeply interested in the venture; they knew Nordeck as a daring, skilful rider, but they had no idea that he could rival Prince Zulieski, and, less thoughtful than Count Morynski, they coolly resigned this "foreign plebeian" to certain discomfiture. The brothers stood near the splendid steed. The slim, fiery animal pawed the ground impatiently, and threatened every moment to break away from his groom. Leo took the bridle and held the horse while his brother mounted. His eyes beamed with satisfaction; he knew his Vaillant, and he was confident which would win the victory.

Vaillant scarcely felt the strange hand on the bridle, when he began to manifest his native obstinacy. He reared and plunged, and made the most violent efforts to rid himself of the burden; but the rider sat firmly in the saddle, and resisted the horse's frantic opposition so coolly and yet so energetically, that the animal soon grew quiet. But when Waldemar was ready to start, he refused to obey; the rider's whole skill and energy could not move him, he positively refused to stir, and at length became furious and decidedly dangerous. Thus far, Waldemar had remained perfectly composed, but now his brow grew dark, his lips compressed; his patience was exhausted. He raised his whip, and a merciless blow fell upon the refractory animal.

This unusual severity maddened the obstinate and spoiled Vaillant; he made a leap which caused the bystanders to scatter right and left, and shot like an arrow across the lawn into the broad avenue leading to the castle. There the ride became an infuriated combat between man and beast. Vaillant seemed determined to throw his rider. Waldemar retained his place, but it was at the risk of his life.

"End this mad conflict, Leo," said Count Morynski to his nephew. "Vaillant will grow quiet if you approach him; persuade your brother to dismount, or he may be killed."

Leo stood before his uncle with folded arms, and made no movement at interference. "I did not conceal from Waldemar the danger of riding my horse," he said, coldly. "If he purposely exasperates Vaillant, he must take the consequences; he knows that the animal will not endure harsh treatment."

Waldemar returned to the place whence he had started. He had forced Vaillant into the direction he wished to take, but had not conquered him. The horse still resisted his rider's iron will, and tried to throw him. Nordeck showed that the passion of his boyhood, so long repressed, had again revived; his face glowed, his eyes flashed, his teeth were set; he used the whip and spur in so unsparing a manner that Leo was beside himself. He had calmly contemplated his brother's danger, but he could not endure this ill-treatment of his favorite Vaillant.

"Stop, Waldemar!" he cried, angrily; "you will ruin my horse; you have proved that you can force Vaillant to carry you, now give him up to me."

"I shall first teach him obedience," said Waldemar, in a voice that betrayed the wildest excitement. He paid no heed to Leo's protests–their only result was the harsher treatment of the horse in a second course around the lawn. On the third round, Vaillant ceased his opposition, kept straight on in the road, and, at a single pressure of the bit, halted before the castle, but in a state of entire exhaustion.

Nordeck dismounted; the gentlemen thronged around him and complimented him, although somewhat reluctantly, upon his horsemanship. Leo had not a word to say. He patted his trembling, panting Vaillant in sullen silence, and his ill-humor was not at all improved when he saw that his favorite's glossy, brown coat bore blood-stains here and there from the merciless use of Waldemar's spurs.

"An unparalleled test of endurance!" said Count Morynski, gravely; "Vaillant will not soon forget this ride."

Waldemar had regained his self-control; but his flushed face and the swollen blue vein on his temple still bore evidence of his inward perturbation, as he replied,–

"It was my duty to prove that I in some measure deserved the Countess Morynski's flattering testimony, that I could ride nearly as well as my brother."

Wanda stood near Leo, her face wearing an expression which indicated that she too had suffered a defeat which must be avenged. Her dark eyes flashed ominously.

"I regret that my thoughtless remark has subjected poor Vaillant to this cruel treatment," she answered, struggling for breath. "The noble animal is accustomed only to kindness."

"Neither am I accustomed to such opposition," sharply retorted Waldemar. "It is not my fault that Vaillant will submit only to whip and spur,–for submit he must."

Leo forestalled the angry reply already upon Wanda's lips, by ordering his groom in a loud voice to take Vaillant to the stable, to care for him in the kindest manner, and to bring him another horse. Seeing his nephew's excitement and resentment, Count Morynski took him aside and implored him to control his anger. "Do you wish to have a quarrel with your brother, here in presence of all these guests?" he asked.

"I don't care if I do," hotly replied the young prince, in a low sullen tone. "Has he not declared before them all that I cannot manage his Norman? Has he not ridden my Vaillant nearly to death, and all for a paltry bit of braggadocio?"

"But consider! You proposed the test, and he at first declined to accept it."

"He wanted to display his superiority in mere physical force. As if any one ever disputed that point which is his one great merit! I tell you, uncle, that my patience will never bear the like of this again, even were he tenfold master of Villica."

"Do show some discretion," said the count. "You and Wanda subordinate everything to your personal feelings. Nothing delights my daughter more than to exasperate Waldemar."

"Wanda can openly show her dislike," muttered Leo. "But I–There he stands by his Norman, as if they both were peace and tranquillity incarnate; but just let any one interfere with them."

The new horse was brought, and the hunting-party rode away. It was fortunate that the chase kept the brothers apart, for Leo's anger might have broken out into open hostility. Both brothers entered eagerly into the sport, and their quarrel was for the time forgotten.

Waldemar was wrong in despising those large, fashionable hunting-parties which were carried out in a style of princely magnificence at Villica. All the foresters and their assistants were required to appear in gala dress, the entire forest was in commotion, and swarmed with woodsmen and game-beaters, while the large, elegant, and exciting hunting-party sweeping past, formed an imposing pageant. The gentlemen, mostly distinguished by splendid figures, and wearing rich hunting-costumes, were mounted on spirited and gayly caparisoned horses, while the ladies at their side, in their beautiful riding-dresses and waving plumes, were equally well mounted, and the servants brought up the rear. The sounding of horns, the yelping of dogs, the shouts of the game-beaters, all combined to form a spectacle full of life and animation, which became even more lively and excited when the fleeing game and the whizzing shots awaking echoes through the forest, announced that the sport had actually begun.

The weather was everything that could be desired; it was a cool and hazy, but yet a fine November day. The Villica hunting-grounds boasted a matchless stock of deer, and excellent arrangements for securing a large booty had been made. The hunt was the more animated from the lateness of the hour; amends must be made for the morning's delay, and the autumn afternoon was already drawing to a close.

A few thousand yards distant from the forester's place, which to-day served as a rendezvous, lay a wooded meadow, lonely and almost lost in the midst of the foliage. During the summer season it was concealed from view by thick underbrush and stately trees, but now it was in full sight, the trees and bushes being nearly dismantled of their foliage. In the centre of the clearing there was a body of water, a small, transparent lake such as the forest often conceals in its depths. In summer, waving swamp-grasses and dreamy water-lilies threw a peculiar charm about the place which was now sombre and colorless, its withered leaves and faded turf being in unison with the autumnal aspect of the surrounding landscape.

Under one of these stately, wide-branching trees the Countess Morynski stood alone. Her seclusion was voluntary; she could not have been left behind by the hunting-party, which was distinctly heard at a short distance, and the forest-keeper's house where she had left her horse was also near. She leaned against the tree and gazed intently into the water, but her thoughts were evidently far away. Her beautiful eyes had a lowering glance, and the deep frown that furrowed her fair brow showed that she was under the influence of some angry emotion. The noisy hunting party drew nearer and then turned suddenly toward the river which flowed at some distance, very remote from the place Wanda had chosen as her retreat. The wild, confused sounds died away in the distance, only the far-off report of a rifle was heard at intervals, and soon death-like silence reigned.

As Wanda stood there seemingly lost in thought, the sound of a footstep and a rustling of branches startled her. Somewhat vexed at the disturbance, she looked around to discover its cause; the bushes parted, and Waldemar Nordeck appeared before her.

His surprise fully equalled her own. This unexpected meeting seemed as unpleasant to him as to her; but retreat was impossible, recognition had been mutual. Waldemar bowed stiffly, and said,–

"I was not aware, Countess Morynski, that you had left the chase; I did not suppose that so indefatigable a huntress would give up the pursuit until the last moment."

"And you too are an ardent hunter. Why did you leave the party so soon?" asked Wanda.

"I have had enough of it," returned Waldemar, shrugging his shoulders. "Such a crowd and tumult spoil all my pleasure. I prefer to hunt alone."

Wanda also had grown weary of the rush and noise, and had come here in quest of silence and solitude, but she would not confess it. "Do you come from the rendezvous?" she asked.

"No; but I have sent my horse there. The day's sport is nearly over; the hunting-party will pass here on its return, and I propose to await it."

As he said this, he set down his fowling-piece and the cock he had shot.

Wanda frowned. What business had he to be waiting here in the place she had chosen as her own retreat? Her first impulse was to leave; but was it not his duty to withdraw? She resolved to remain, even at the cost of being forced to tolerate the presence of this detestable man.

He did not manifest the slightest intention of leaving; he stood near her with folded arms, gazing upon the surrounding scene. The sun had been all day hidden behind a dense veil of clouds, but now a golden radiance broke through the fog, lighting up the western horizon and shimmering through the tree-tops. Ere long misty shadows, the harbingers of approaching night, began to rise from the meadows. The forest with its half dismantled trees and the withered leaves strewing the ground, lent the scene a bleak, autumnal aspect. There was no trace of that fresh, invigorating breath which pulsates through the woods in spring and summer; no token of that potent, life-giving power which at those seasons throbs through the veins and arteries of nature. Waning existence, slow, irresistible decay, were impressed upon all around.

Wanda's eyes rested as if in gloomy meditation upon the face of her companion; she seemed anxious to decipher his hidden thoughts. Although his face was half averted, he must have been conscious of her gaze, for he turned abruptly, and said indifferently,–

"There is something really comfortless in an autumnal landscape at an hour like this."

"And yet it has its own melancholy, poetic charm," returned Wanda; "do you not think so?"

"I?" he said, coldly; "I have had very little to do with poetry; you know that, Countess Morynski."

"And yet there are moments when the most prosaic natures must feel its spell."

"That may be, and to romantic natures such moments very often come. One like me must get through the world as best he can without romance or poetry. Such an existence, although not enviable, is at least endurable."

"How calmly you say this. And yet endurance was never your distinguishing virtue."

"Would you expect me to remain my whole life long a passionate, impetuous boy? Do you not think me capable of outgrowing juvenile follies?"

Wanda bit her lips; he had already proved the contrary.

"I certainly do," she said. "Indeed, I think you capable of a great deal more than you think proper to admit."

Waldemar scanned the young lady's face very closely. "Then you differ from all others in Villica; it is the general belief here that my abilities are of no high order."

"Because you choose to have them think so. I perhaps have deeper insight than the others."

"You flatter me," returned Waldemar, ironically; "but although you mean this kindly, it is cruel in you to deprive me of the only merit I possess in the eyes of my mother and brother–that of being harmless and insignificant."

"If my aunt could only hear the tone in which you say this, she would change her mind," returned Wanda, irritated by his sarcasm. "At present, I am alone in my opinion."

"And will remain so," added Waldemar. "It is conceded that I am an expert hunter, and after to-day's test, I may, perhaps, have the credit of being a skilful rider–but that is all."

"Are you really hunting, Herr Nordeck, when you roam about all day with your rifle and game-bag?"

"What else can I be doing?"

"I do not know, but I imagine that you are making a very thorough inspection of Villica. There is not a village, a forester's hut, or a farmhouse far or near upon your estates, that you have not visited. In all these places, as well as in your mother's salon, where you appear seldom and play a very indifferent part, you are constantly in search of information. You seem to take no notice of your mother's guests, but there is not a single one of them who has not been submitted to your scrutiny, upon whom you have not passed judgment. Not a word or glance escapes you."

She hurled all this at him blow after blow, with a precision and a determination which were well calculated to embarrass him, and for a moment he could not reply. He stood there with knit brows and compressed lips, evidently struggling to keep down his anger. But it was not so easy to disconcert Waldemar Nordeck. When he looked up at Wanda, a frown still rested upon his forehead, but his voice was sarcastic rather than angry.

"Your ladyship really embarrasses me. It seems that from the first day of my sojourn here I have been the object of your minute and almost exclusive observation. This is an honor which I really do not deserve."

Wanda was furious. Her cheeks glowed with rage as she met the glance of the audacious man who had dared to parry her blow with her own weapons.

"I do not deny this minute observation; but you yourself will admit, Herr Nordeck, that I have not made it from the slightest personal interest in you."

His lips curled in a bitter smile. "You are perfectly right; I had no idea that you could take the slightest personal interest in me; the indifference is perhaps mutual."

"But you will at least allow that I have been frank with you: it only remains for you to admit or deny the truth of my conclusions."

"But what if I choose to do neither?"

"Then my opinion will be confirmed, and I shall earnestly endeavor to convince my aunt that her son is more dangerous than she supposes."

Waldemar's voice had a tone of cutting irony as he replied,–

"You may have very excellent judgment, Countess Morynski, but you are not a diplomatist; if you were, you would be more guarded in your expressions. Dangerous? That is a significant word."

The young girl gave an involuntary start. "I merely repeated your own expression," she said, regaining her self-control.

"Ah! I began to think that something was going on in Villica, the success of which might be endangered by my presence."

Wanda made no reply. She began to see how indiscreet she had been. Her adversary had parried every thrust, returned every blow, and entrapped her in her own words. He had also possessed the advantage of remaining cool and collected, while she had lost her temper. She saw that she must attempt to rescue herself from the net which her own indiscretion had woven around her.

"Will you desist from this mockery?" she said, fixing her large, defiant eyes full upon his face. "I know that it is directed solely against me. You at last force me to allude to a subject which I recall very much against my will. I once wronged, perhaps insulted you, and you have never forgotten it. I was entirely to blame–I confess it–will you forgive me?"

The apology was made in a tone which expressed all the pride of a woman who realizes that it is no humiliation to ask forgiveness of the man with whom she has trifled. Its effect was entirely different from what she had expected.

Waldemar approached a step nearer, and his eyes rested with a penetrating glance upon her face. "Indeed," he said, slowly, and strongly emphasizing every word,–"indeed, I was not aware that Villica was of so much consequence to your party."

"Do you believe–" Wanda began.

"I believe that one day I shall have to pay dear for being master of these estates," interrupted he. "Four years ago the main point was to induce me to open Villica to my mother and her interests; now the main point is to retain it in her interests at any price; but they forget that I am no longer an inexperienced boy. You yourself have opened my eyes, countess, and I shall keep them open even at the risk of incurring your resentment."

Wanda turned deathly pale; her right hand clenched involuntarily the folds of her velvet riding-dress.

"Enough!" she said, making a powerful effort to regain her self-control, "I see that you spurn all reconciliation, and try to offend me so as to render an understanding impossible. Well and good! I accept the proffered enmity."

"You mistake!" rejoined Waldemar, calmly. "I do not proffer you enmity: that would be very ungallant toward–"

"Toward whom?" exclaimed Wanda, with flashing eyes, as he hesitated.

"Toward my brother's affianced bride."

Wanda's whole frame was convulsed. Strange as it may appear, that word stabbed her to the heart. Her eyes involuntarily sought the ground.

"I have hitherto neglected to offer you my congratulations," continued Waldemar; "will you accept them to-day?"

She bowed her thanks in silence. She herself did not know what sealed her lips, but she could not answer at this moment. For the first time the betrothal had been alluded to between them, and the mere mention of it seemed sufficient, for even Waldemar did not add a syllable to his congratulations.

The golden lustre of the western sky had long since faded into a pale, sombre gray; the light evening wind rustled the underbrush and swayed gently the tree-tops now half dismantled of their foliage, which hung in mottled shreds from the branches, or had fallen, leaf by leaf, strewing the forest-floor and the unruffled surface of the lake. Other withered, dying leaves, swayed to and fro by the breeze, seemed sighing a low wail for all that life and beauty which had known its brief hour of bloom and brightness, and was now passing to its grave. Ever deepening shadows wrapt the forest; vapory clouds from the damp meadows, growing denser as they rose, ere long hung in threatening masses above the water. Now, floating in mid-air, appeared a ghostly apparition, stretching out its humid, nebulous arms to these two beings standing on the edge of the lake, as if it would draw them to itself,–anon it dissolved into thousands of phantom forms and pictures, each succeeding the other in endless variation.

No sound was heard save the low, sad, monotone of the winds and the gentle dropping of the leaves; but through the ever-changing mists above the water appeared a sort of fata morgana, the picture of a forest knoll with primeval beeches, and of a heaving sea stretching out to the horizon's verge, the whole illuminated by the golden light of a summer sunset. The sun sank slowly beneath the waters, and amid a flood of radiance rose again the old wonder-city of tradition,–that city which has been the theme of so many a story, the inspiration of so many a song. Fairy-land again opened to mortal gaze, and from the depths was heard a musical chime, the chime of the bells of Vineta, the sunken city beneath the wave.

The fairy vision had not kept its word to these two who had seen it that day upon the beech-holm. They had parted in estrangement and hostility, they met again upon the same footing. The youth had become a man who was passing through life unloving and solitary; the young girl had become a woman blessed with beauty, love, and fortune: but they had never again found what that one hour at the beech-holm had brought them, never until this autumnal evening, when the old vision reappeared before their eyes. And now, as they stood there together, the intervening years vanished, hatred, strife and bitterness were at an end, and nothing remained in their hearts save a deep, inexpressible yearning for a happiness they might never know, a happiness whose first premonitions had come to them with that vision of Vineta–that mirage at sunset.