Gilbert was
carried along by the stream of hurrying men, who, seeing that he was a
stranger and alone, jostled him with little ceremony. He had too much
wit and perhaps too much self-respect, to rouse a street brawl on his
own behalf, and when any one ran against him with unnecessary roughness
he contented himself with stiffening his back and holding his own in
passive resistance. He had reached his full strength and was a match
for many little Greeks, yet the annoyance was distasteful to him, and
he was glad to find himself pushed into a narrow lane between high
walls and crossed by a low covered bridge; and at the end, under
overhanging branches, he saw the blue light of the sea. He followed the
byway down to the water, supposing that there must be some beach or
open space there, where he might be alone. But, to his surprise, both
walls were built out on little piers into the sea, shutting off the
view on each side. Looking straight before him, he saw the trees and
white houses of distant Chalcedon, within the Sea of Marmara, but
Chrysopolis was hidden on the left. The lane ended in a little beach,
some six feet wide, and a skiff lay there with a pair of oars, half out
of water, and made fast by a chain to a ring in the masonry. A cool
breeze drew in through the narrow entrance, and the clear salt water
lapped the clean sand softly, and splashed under the stern and along
the wales of the half-beached boat.
Gilbert rested one hand against the wall and looked out, breathing the
bright sea air with a sort of voluptuous enjoyment, and letting his
thoughts wander as they would.
Pages:
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185