"It was colossal!" he exclaimed. "Think of it! a whole city wiped out." I lowered my eyes to the goat nibbling beside us. "The courage and energy that rebuilt it is herculean." His enthusiasm was cumulative. "And rebuilt it in practically three years! No wonder you date all things from the fire."
Billy flickered his tail and solemnly winked at me.
"It is getting late," I said, "but the sun is just setting. Shall we watch it before we go?"
Without speaking, he followed me back to our first point of view. The crimson ball was sinking into the sea, with its Midas touch turning the water and sky to molten gold. The last rays gilded the cliffs on either side of the entrance to the bay, and burnished the heads of the nodding poppies at our feet. From the Presidio came the muffled boom of the sunset gun.
"Could Frémont have chosen a better name?" exclaimed the man at my side.
"The Golden Gate it is, indeed!"
"It certainly is well named," I agreed, "for everyone can interpret its meaning according to his mood and character. Some see only what Frémont saw, an open door to commerce; to others it is the entrance to hoards of gold, stowed away in hills and streams; to the poet it speaks of the golden poppies that streak the hillsides, but I like to think of it as did the Indians, who called it 'Yulupa,' the Sunset Strait."
Silently we watched the lights of the city come out, one by one, until it seemed as if the heavens lay beneath us.
"I hoped when I left Boston that you would return with me," he said gently, "but I can't ask you to leave this. I didn't understand then, but now—"
The lights became blurred and the night seemed suddenly to have grown cold.
"Of course, you couldn't be happy—"