It was the first time he had spoken
of the Mountain except as a feature of the landscape. What else did he
know about it, and about her relation to it? Her heart began to beat
with the fierce impulse of resistance which she instinctively opposed to
every imagined slight.
"The Mountain? I ain't afraid of the Mountain!"
Her tone of defiance seemed to escape him. He lay breast-down on the
grass, breaking off sprigs of thyme and pressing them against his lips.
Far off, above the folds of the nearer hills, the Mountain thrust itself
up menacingly against a yellow sunset.
"I must go up there some day: I want to see it," he continued.
Her heart-beats slackened and she turned again to examine his profile.
It was innocent of all unfriendly intention.
"What'd you want to go up the Mountain for?"
"Why, it must be rather a curious place. There's a queer colony up
there, you know: sort of out-laws, a little independent kingdom. Of
course you've heard them spoken of; but I'm told they have nothing to
do with the people in the valleys--rather look down on them, in fact.
Pages:
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71