Milton saw. I never did a better thing in my life than carry you off from London for a long holiday. That last picture of yours was all infernalised allegory, which comes directly of thinking things out.'
The driver drew up. They were on the top plateau of the Croix des Gardes.
'But,' said Wilson, laughing, 'that is only the beginning of my criticism on your theory.'
'If,' said the driver, 'the gentlemen would alight here and mount by there' (pointing to a path) 'on to the top of the hill, they would see something very fine.'
'I'll give you the second part,' said Wilson, getting out, 'from the top of the hill in front of the something very fine.'
'By the Lord, no!' said Randal. 'If I climb up the side of that roof, it is in search of happiness, not of your criticism on my theory of it.'
The path was rough, the vagabond windings of the tracks of successive pilgrims of the picturesque, and they mounted slowly. The western side of the hill was protected from the breeze, and the sun beat upon it with force, raising up the perfume of the fallen pine-needles in hot gusts. The underwood was mostly broom, brilliantly lit with fresh and yellow blossom. At last they emerged on the hill-top, a flat and open space with a pile of dark stone
