Summary

Portrait of George Manville Fenn George Manville Fenn Yussuf the Guide; Or, the Mountain Bandits

Day after day, with a few intervals of heavy snow and storm, the dazzling sunshine continued, with the brilliant blue sky, and the mountains around looking like glistening silver.
Everywhere the same deep pure white snow, in waves, in heaps, in drifts, and deep furrows, silvery in the day, and tinged with rose, purple, scarlet, and gold as the sun went down.
They were so shut in that an army of men could not have dug a way to them; and, knowing this, the brigands dropped into a torpid state, like so many hibernating bears, while the professor’s work went on.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of George Manville Fenn George Manville Fenn Yussuf the Guide; Or, the Mountain Bandits

These little estates were either just above the river, perched on one side, or so arranged that the stream ran right through the grounds, rippling amongst velvety grass lawns, overshadowed by great walnuts, with mulberry and plum trees in abundance.
“Hi, stop a moment,” cried Mr Burne, as they reached one beautiful clump of trees, quite a grove, whose leaves were waving in the soft mountain-breeze.
“What have you found?” said the professor, as Lawrence hurried up.
“That, sir, that,” cried Mr Burne. “See these trees.”
“Yes,” said the professor, “a magnificent clump of planes—what a huge size!”
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of George Manville Fenn George Manville Fenn Yussuf the Guide; Or, the Mountain Bandits

He rose quietly and walked to the entrance, drawing the rug that hung there aside and peering out, to come back as softly as he left his seat, and glancing at where the professor, wearied out with a hard day’s work, was, like his companions by the fire, fast asleep.
“The guards are smoking out there, and are safe,” said Yussuf. “See here, Lawrence effendi, but do not say a word to a soul.”
Source: Gutenberg

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