Far beyond, and surrounded by the higher ridges and
peaks and canyons of the range, San Gorgonio sat enthroned in the
skies--the ruler of them all. From the northeast, westward, they viewed
the mighty sweep of the main range to Cajon Pass and the San Gabriels,
beyond, with San Antonio, Cucamonga, and their sister peaks lifting their
heads above their fellows. In the immediate landscape, no house or
building was to be seen. The dark-green mass of the orange groves hid
every work of man's building between them and the tawny foothills save the
gable and chimney of a neighboring cottage on the west.
"Listen"--said Conrad Lagrange, in a low tone, moved as always by the
grandeur and beauty of the scene--"listen! Don't you hear them calling?
Don't you feel the mountains sending their message to these poor insects
who squirm and wriggle in this bit of muck men call their world? God, man!
if only we, in our work, would heed the message of the hills!"
The novelist spoke with such intensity of feeling--with such bitter
sadness and regret in his voice--that Aaron King could not reply.
Turning, the artist unlocked the door, and they entered the cottage.
They found the interior of the house well arranged, and not in bad repair.
Pages:
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89