"
Heads were turned and necks craned to see what had induced this
unexpected prophecy. Behind the distant coast-line the inner giants of
the Andes threw heavenward their rugged outlines, with many a peak and
glacier glinting in vivid colors against a sky so clear and blue that
they seemed strangely near.
"Yes, this wonderful atmosphere of ours is enchanting," said the
doctor, when assailed by a chorus of doubts. "But it carries its
deceptive smiles too far. The very beauty of the Cordillera is a sign
of storm. I am sorry to be a croaker; yet we are running into a gale."
"I shall ask the captain," pouted Isobel, rising.
The Count twisted his mustache. He knew that both ladies were in the
forbidden territory of the bridge when the fracas occurred.
"You, perhaps, are a good sailor?" said he, addressing Elsie.
"I am afraid to boast," she answered. "I have been in what was called
a Number Eight gale, whatever that may mean, and weathered it
splendidly, but I am older now."
"It cannot have been long ago, seeing that you recall it so exactly."
"It was six years ago, and I was seventeen then," said Elsie, her eyes
wandering to the purple and gold of the far-off mountains.
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