There did not seem to
be much to see--nothing but the precipitous face of the cliff towering
above us, the road cut out of it, winding steeply down to the right,
and the shoulder of the left-hand peak running up into a cloud-swept
sky. Below us was a floor of mist, swaying to unfelt airs, heaving,
gray, and sad.
Just about this time a Chinaman arrived--one of the beast-of-burden
sort--with two immense baskets swung across his shoulders on a bamboo
pole. He made three ineffectual efforts to get round the point, but
had to fall on his knees each time, as the wind threatened to sweep him
too near the cliff. So the philanthropic youths went to his assistance
as they had come to ours, and piloted him safely round the bend. We
became so much interested in this operation and in the Chinaman's
efforts to express his thanks that we quite forgot our disappointment
at the Pali's unkind behavior. A sudden gleam of sunshine recalled
us. The clouds which had been dripping down upon us were rent apart
to reveal a long streamer of blue, and to give passage to a shaft
of sunlight which drove resistlessly through the mist floor. The fog
parted shudderingly, silently, and for a moment we looked down into a
beautiful valley, green and with a thousand other tints and shades,
and set in a great inward curve, beyond which the sea raced up in
frothy billows to the clean white sands.
Pages:
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36