had found that almost every vestige of it had disappeared and he had cut his way through the tangled underbrush of the bottoms where the growth was dense and had reblazed trees and had replaced cairns. He had brought today his heavy knife in its case, for further pruning where necessary—in case he decided to go across that way. It was one of the delights of the days to let the trail and the inclination of the moment call him. Or was it the inclination of the moment? Or did he unconsciously follow the beckoning of his craggy monitor up there?
He was never quite sure. At any rate when he set forth any vague intentions he had in mind were always ready for editing or for complete revision. But here he was—and the wild little trail beckoned.
He dropped down the first descent marked by a chunk of glittering quartz. Down below there was a succession of little moss-covered steps over which the water flowed. He remembered a bit like that in the marvellous gardens of the Villa d'Este at Tivoli. Just
