{"product_id":"2940013768758","title":"Camlan and The Shadow of the Sword","description":"\"Rohan, Rohan! Can you not hear me call? It is time to go. Come, come!\u003cbr\u003eIt frightens me to look down at you. Will you not come up now, Rohan?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe voice that cries is lost in the ocean-sound that fills the blue\u003cbr\u003evoid beneath; it fades away far under, amid a confused murmur of\u003cbr\u003ewings, a busy chattering of innumerable little newborn mouths; and\u003cbr\u003ewhile the speaker, drawing dizzily back, feels the ground rise up\u003cbr\u003ebeneath her feet and the cliffs prepare to turn over like a great\u003cbr\u003ewheel, a human cry comes upward, clear yet faint, like a voice from\u003cbr\u003ethe sea that washes on the weedy reefs of blood-red granite a thousand\u003cbr\u003efeet below.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe sun is sinking far away across the waters, sinking with a last\u003cbr\u003egolden gleam amid the mysterious Hesperides of the silent air, and his\u003cbr\u003eblinding light comes slant across the glassy calm till it strikes on\u003cbr\u003ethe scarred and storm-rent faces of these Breton crags, illuminating\u003cbr\u003eand vivifying every nook and cranny of the cliffs beneath, burning on\u003cbr\u003ethe summits and brightening their natural red to the vivid crimson of\u003cbr\u003edripping blood, changing the coarse grass and yellow starwort into\u003cbr\u003ethreads of emerald and glimmering stars, burning in a golden mist\u003cbr\u003earound the yellow flowers of the overhanging broom, and striking with\u003cbr\u003efiercest ray on one naked rock of solid stone which juts out like a\u003cbr\u003ehuge horn over the brink of the abyss, and around which a strong rope\u003cbr\u003eis noosed and firmly knotted.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eClose to this horn of rock, in the full glory of the sunset light,\u003cbr\u003estands a young girl, calling aloud to one who swings unseen below.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe sunlight flashes full into her face and blinds her, while the soft\u003cbr\u003ebreath of the sea kisses the lids of her dazzled eyes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJudged by her sun-tanned skin, she might be the daughter of some gipsy\u003cbr\u003etribe. But such dark features as hers are common among the Celtic\u003cbr\u003ewomen of the Breton coast; and her large eyes are not gipsy-black, but\u003cbr\u003eethereal grey--that mystic colour which can be soft as heaven with joy\u003cbr\u003eand love, but dark as death with jealousy and wrath; and, indeed, to\u003cbr\u003eone who gazes long into such eyes as these, there are revealed strange\u003cbr\u003edepths of passion, and self-control, and pride. The girl is tall and\u003cbr\u003eshapely, somewhat slight of figure, small-handed, small-footed; so\u003cbr\u003ethat, were her cheek a little less rosy, her hands a little whiter,\u003cbr\u003eand her step a little less elastic, she might be a lady born.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt is just eighteen years to-day since that red blustering morning\u003cbr\u003ewhen her father, running into port with the biggest haul of fish on\u003cbr\u003erecord that season in the little fishing village, found that the Holy\u003cbr\u003eVirgin, after giving him four strong sons had at last deposited in his\u003cbr\u003emarriage bed a maid-child, long prayed for, come at last; and the\u003cbr\u003emaid's face is still beautiful with the unthinking innocence of\u003cbr\u003echildhood. Mark the pretty, almost petulant mouth, with the delicious\u003cbr\u003eunderlip--\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Some bee hath stung it newly!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWoman she is, yet still a child; and surely the sun, that touches this\u003cbr\u003emoment nearly every maiden cheek in every village for a hundred miles\u003cbr\u003ealong this stormy coast, shines upon no sweeter thing.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLike Queen Bertha of old she bears in her hand a distaff, but not even\u003cbr\u003ea queen's dress, however fair, could suit her better than the severe\u003cbr\u003eyet picturesque garb of the Breton peasant girl--the modest white\u003cbr\u003ecoif, the blue gown brightly bordered with red, the pretty apron\u003cbr\u003eenwrought with flowers in coloured thread, the neat bodice adorned\u003cbr\u003ewith a rosary and medal of Our Lady; and finally, the curious sabots,\u003cbr\u003eor wooden shoes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Rohan, Rohan!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA clear bird-like voice, but it is lost in the murmur of the blue void\u003cbr\u003ebelow.","brand":"WDS Publishing","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":47069008658672,"sku":"2940013768758","price":3.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0737\/7593\/9824\/files\/2940013768758_p0.jpg?v=1763590006","url":"https:\/\/shop-qa.barnesandnoble.com\/products\/2940013768758","provider":"Barnes \u0026 Noble (DEV)","version":"1.0","type":"link"}