Late in the afternoon I waked and looked out. A, low but glowing
sunlight suffused the wild garden reclaimed from the
strangle-hold of the jungle and hemmed in with rocks and forest.
A few simple flowers had been planted here and there, but its
chief beauty was a mountain stream, brown and clear as the eyes
of a dog, that fell from a crag above into a rocky basin,
maidenhair ferns growing in such masses about it that it was
henceforward scarcely more than a woodland voice. Beside it two
great deodars spread their canopies, and there a woman sat in a
low chair, a girl beside her reading aloud. She had thrown her
hat off and the sunshine turned her massed dark hair to bronze.
That was all I could see. I went out and joined them, taking the
note of introduction which Olesen had given me.
I pass over the unessentials of my story; their friendly
greetings and sympathy for my adventure. It set us at ease at
once and I knew my stay would be the happier for their presence
though it is not every woman one would choose as a companion in
the great mountain country.
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