long sweep of a rounding slope, deep violet and
pale purple in dimple and hollow, red showing
through green on a tongue of land running down
from the north; and on the lower ridges and little
islands, pale and dark blue, and the most exquisite
fields of lavender. This last tint was reflected in
the water immediately below the ridge, and farther
out there were lakelets of pale green, as if the
islands, too, had the power to mirror themselves
when the sea itself was glass.

Santiago, Davidov, Carolina Xime'no, Delfina Ri-
vera, Concha and Rezanov, had climbed to the ridge.
The other young people had given out halfway up
the steep and tangled ascent and returned to the
beach. Dona Ignacia immediately after dinner had
frankly asked her host for the hospitality of his
stateroom. She and her little ones must have their
siesta, and the good lady was convinced that so
high and mighty a personage as the Russian Cham-
berlain was all the chaperon the proprieties de-
manded.

Four of the party strayed along the crest in search
of the first wild pansies. Rezanov and Concha
looked under the sloping roof of brittle leaves into
dim falling vistas, arches, arbors, caverns, a forest
in miniature with natural terraces breaking the pre-
cipitous wall of the island.