Rivera had opened their eyes as Rezanov abruptly
unfolded his plan, but dropped them sleepily before
the delight of the girls. After all, it was none of
their affair, and what was a bay? If they requested
him, as a point of honor, to refrain from examining
the battery of Yerba Buena with his glass, their con-
sciences would be as light as their hearts.

As Rezanov stood alone with Concha in the prow
of the ship and alternately cast softened eyes on her
intense, rapt face, and shrewd glances on the rami-
fications of the bay, he congratulated himself upon
his precipitate action and the collusion of nature.
They were sailing east, and would turn to the north
in a moment. The mountain range bent abruptly
at the entrance to the bay, encircling the immense
sheet of water in a chain of every altitude and form:
a long hard undulating line against the bright blue
sky; smooth and dimpled slopes as round as cones,
bare but for the green of their grasses; lofty ridges
tapering to hills in the curve at the north but with
blue peaks multiplying beyond. There were dense
forests in deep canyons on the mountainside, bare
and jagged heights, the graceful sweep of valleys,
promontories leaping out from the mainland like
mammoth crocodiles guarding the bay. The view
of the main waters was broken by the largest of
the islands, but far away were the hills of the east
and the soft blue peaks behind. And over all, hills
and valley and canyon and mountain, was a bright