We Leave The Road About Fifty Yards Above The Hut, Turning Into The
Unbroken Forest On The Right-Hand Side, And Following A Narrow,
Slippery, Muddy, Root-Beset Bush-Path That Was A Comfort After The
Road.
Presently we come to a lovely mountain torrent flying down
over red-brown rocks in white foam; exquisitely lovely, and only a
shade damper than the rest of things.
Seeing this I solemnly fold
up my umbrella and give it to Kefalla. I then take charge of Fate
and wade.
This particular stream, too, requires careful wading, the rocks over
which it flows being arranged in picturesque, but perilous
confusion; however all goes well, and getting to the other side I
decide to "chuck it," as Captain Davies would say, as to keeping
dry, for the rain comes down heavier than ever.
Now we are evidently dealing with a foot-hillside, but the rain is
too thick for one to see two yards in any direction, and we seem to
be in a ghost-land forest, for the great palms and red-woods rise up
in the mist before us, and fade out in the mist behind, as we pass
on. The rocks which edge and strew the path at our feet are covered
with exquisite ferns and mosses - all the most delicate shades of
green imaginable, and here and there of absolute gold colour,
looking as if some ray of sunshine had lingered too long playing on
the earth, and had got shut off from heaven by the mist, and so lay
nestling among the rocks until it might rejoin the sun.
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