A misstep being no trifle, Rudolph
offered his hand for the mere safety; but she took it with a curious
little laugh. They climbed cautiously. Once, at a halt, she stood very
close, with eyes shining large in the dusk. Her slight body trembled,
her head shook with stifled merriment, like a girl overcome by mischief.
"What a queer little world!" she whispered. "You and I here!--I never
dreamed you could be funny. It made me so proud of you, down there!"
He muttered something vague; and--the stairs ending in ruin at the
fourth story--handed her carefully through the window to a small outer
balustrade. As they stood together at the rail, he knew not whether to
be angry, suspicious, or glad.
"I love this prospect," she began quietly. "That's why I wanted you to
come."
Beyond the camphors, a wide, strange landscape glowed in the full,
low-streaming light. The ocean lay a sapphire band in the east; in the
west, on a long ridge, undulated the gray battlements of a city, the
antique walls, warmed and glorified, breasting the flood of sunset. All
between lay vernal fields and hillocks, maidenhair sprays of bamboo, and
a wandering pattern of pink foot-paths.
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