The soft sound thrilled Lenore.

It seemed a sweet, hopeful message that waiting had been rewarded, that the drought could be broken.

Again, and more beautiful than ever before in her life, she saw the waves of shadow as they came forward over the wheat.

Rippling, like breezes over the surface of a golden lake, they came in long, broken lines, moving, following, changing, until the whole wheat-field seemed in shadowy motion.
The cloud pageant rolled on above and beyond.

Lenore felt a sweet drop of rain splash upon her upturned face.