en, sometimes, it rises
suddenly in deep-toned wrath, smiting the face of the cliff, booming
through the low-mouthed caves, curling its great green curls and
combing them out to frothing ringlets along the strips of beach, winding
itself about the rock of Conca in a heavily gleaming sheet and whirling
its wraith of foam to heaven, the very ghost of storm.

And in the face of those rough rocks, high above the water, is hewn a
way that leads round the mountain's base, many miles along it, over the
sharp-jutting spurs, and in between the boulders and the needles, down
into the gardens of the gorges and past the dark towers whence watchmen
once descried the Saracen's ill-boding sail and sent up their warning
beacon of smoke by day and fire by night.

It is the most beautiful road in the world, in its infinite variety, in
the grandeur above and the breadth below, and the marvellous rich
sweetness of the deep gardens--passing as it does out of wilderness into
splendour, out of splendour into wealth of colour and light and odour,
and again out to the rugged strength of the loneliness beyond.

Clare and Johnstone had exchanged idle phrases for a while, until they
had passed Atrani and the turn where the new way leads up to Ravello,
and were fairly out on the road. They were both glad to be out together
and walking, for Clare had grown stronger, and was weary of always
sitting on the terrace, and Johnstone was tired of taking long walks
alone, merely for the sake of being hungry afterwards, and of late had
given it up altogether. Mrs. Bowring herself was glad to be alone for
once, and made little or no objection, and so the two had started in the
early afternoon.

Johnstone's remark had been premeditated, for his curiosity had been
aroused on the preceding day by Clare's words and manner. But after she
had given him her brief answer she said no more, and they walked on in
silence for a few moments.

"Yes," said Johnstone at last, as though he had been reflecting, "you
generally say what you think. I didn't doubt it at the time. But you
seem rather hard on the men. Women are all angels, of course--"

"Not at all!" interrupted Clare. "Some of us are quite the contrary."

"Well, it's a generally accepted thing, you know. That's what I mean.
But it isn't generally accepted that men are. If you take men into
consideration at all, you must make some allowances."

"I don't see why. You are much stronger than we are. You all thi