Far away, rising out of the shadows, all golden amid floating mists, was a mighty mountain crest, higher than all around. The sun-rays lighted up its wondrous peaks. The glory of it was unearthly, almost more than the eye could bear.
Dinah stood on the little wooden verandah of the châlet and gazed and gazed till the splendour nearly blinded her.
"Still watching the Delectable Mountains?" said Scott's voice at her shoulder.
She made a little gesture in response. She could not take her eyes off the wonder.
He came and stood beside her in mute sympathy while he finished his cigarette. There was a certain depression in his attitude of which presently she became aware. She summoned her resolution and turned herself from the great vision that so drew her.
He was leaning against a post of the verandah, and she read again in his attitude the weariness that she had marked earlier in the afternoon.
"Are you—troubled about your sister?" she asked him diffidently.
He threw away the end of his cigarette and straightened himself. "Yes, I am troubled," he said, in a low voice. "I am afraid it was a mistake to bring her here."
"I thought her looking better this morning," Dinah ventured.
His grey eyes met hers. "Did you? I thought it a good sign that she should make the effort to speak to strangers. But I am not certain now that it has done her any good. We brought her here to wake her from her lethargy. Eustace thought the air would work wonders, but—I am not sure. It is certainly waking her up. But—to what?"