an' need a rest. Mattermony ain't rest."

My brother had tact enough to change the subject.

Descending the San Lorenzo grade, a sharp incline, Gloriana called our
attention to a view panoramic and matchless beneath the glamour of
sunset. Below us lay the mission town, its crude buildings aglow with
rosy light; to the left was the cañon, a frowning wilderness of
manzanita, cactus and chaparral; to the right towered the triune peak
of the Bishop, purple against an amber sky; in the distance were the
shimmering waters of the Pacific. Upon the face of the landscape
brooded infinite peace, and the soft shadows of evening.

"In Californy," said our passenger, "the glorious works o' the Lord
air revealed. There's the Bishop: he looks fine to-night. Ye kin see
the peak, but the sea fog's crawlin' in, an' shets off the main body
o' the mountain. That's wher the fogs air always thickest. An' that's
wher I lost my way, Mr. Ajax. Yes, sir, my feet stumbled on the dark
mountain, as the prophet says, but I clumb the stony places, an' now,
on the top, its clear."

"Gloriana," said Ajax, after a pause, "will you allow my brother, who
is a grave and learned signor, to plead your cause with Doctor
Standish? I know what lies nearest your heart."

In this impudent fashion he laid a grievous burden on me; for I have
no stomach for other folk's pastry, yet the hope that glistened upon
Gloriana's face whetted a strange appetite.

"I'll speak to him--if you wish it," said I.