They were nearing the edge of the promontory, and
the view was stealing round them, but the brown network of the
bushes shattered it into countless pieces. He was occupied in his
cigar, and in holding back the pliant boughs. She was rejoicing
in her escape from dullness. Not a step, not a twig, was
unimportant to her.
"What is that?"
There was a voice in the wood, in the distance behind them. The
voice of Mr. Eager? He shrugged his shoulders. An Italian's
ignorance is sometimes more remarkable than his knowledge. She
could not make him understand that perhaps they had missed the
clergymen. The view was forming at last; she could discern the
river, the golden plain, other hills.
"Eccolo!" he exclaimed.
At the same moment the ground gave way, and with a cry she fell
out of the wood. Light and beauty enveloped her. She had fallen
on to a little open terrace, which was covered with violets
from end to end.
"Courage!" cried her companion, now standing some six feet above.
"Courage and love.
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