Perhaps Ramage was the more astonished. Within ten minutes he had read much more than had greeted his eye. You have the look in your eyes to-night which you had that day, the look of a frightened child. While he was straining every sinew, his foot slipped, and he fell, head foremost, into a deep trench, which he had not observed in the dark. “I think,” he said, “I was a little too mystical about beauty the other day. She loved the market, the horses trotting about, the bishops forced to be on the same road with old washer-women, the fools begging for a Florin or a ducat.
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