I was, in fact, a quarter of an hour late. I was still several
hundred yards from the summit when the sun's first rays shot
through the thin atmosphere, creating colorful riot among the
clouds below, and I stopped, holding my breath in awe.
There is no art nor poetry in that wonderful sight; it is
glorious war. The sun charges forth in a vast flame of
inconceivable brilliance; you can almost hear the shout of
victory. He who made the universe is no artist; too often He
forgets restraint, and blinds us.
I turned, almost regretting that I had come, for I had been put
out of tune with my task. Then I mounted the donkey and slowly
traversed the few remaining yards to the Peak.
There, seated in the dazzling sunshine on the edge of a huge
boulder near the eastern precipice, were the two I sought.
Le Mire's head was turned from me as she sat gazing silently at
the tumbling, gorgeous mass of clouds that seemed almost to be
resting on her lap; Harry was looking at her. And such a look!
There was no rival even in nature that could conquer Le Mire;
never, I believe, did woman achieve a more notable victory than
hers of that morning.
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