“I'm dead, Kiddo—dead to the world,” he sighed. “Don't like to see the sun rise. I never did. Come on back and let's sleep——”
His last words were barely audible. He was breathing heavily as his lips ceased to move.
She gave it up, returned to the window and watched the changing colors until the white light from the sun's face had touched with life the last shadows of the valleys and flashed its signals from the farthest towering peaks.
Her whole being quivered in response to the beauty of this glorious mountain world. The air was wine. She loved the sapphire skies and the warm, lazy, caressing touch of the sun of the South.
A sense of bitterness came, just for a moment, that the man she had chosen for her mate had no eye to see these wonders and no ear to hear their music. During the madness of his whirlwind courtship she had gotten the impression that his spirit was sensitive to beauty—to the waters of the bay, the sea and the wooded hills. She must face the facts. Their stay on the island had convinced her that he had eyes only for her. She must make the most of it.
It was ten o'clock before Jim could be persuaded to rise and get breakfast. She literally pulled him up the stairs to the observatory on the tower of the hotel.
“What's the game, Kiddo? What's the game?” he grumbled.
“Ask me no questions. But do just as I tell you; come on!”
Her face was radiant, her hair in a tangle of riotous beauty about her forehead and temples, her eyes sparkling.
“Don't look till I tell you!” she cried, as they emerged on the little minaret which crowns the tower.