ter
how hot the weather? Brown remarked that my lips were pale, but I said I
was only a little tired. In rather more than an hour we came to the top,
which was Anacapri. My head ached, so we went into a restaurant place,
which turned out to be very famous. I sat on the wall of a terrace
looking over a sheer precipice a thousand feet high until I felt partly
rested; then a handsome girl, evidently of Saracen blood, brought me
delicious lemonade. We had started away to walk into the village of
Anacapri, when everything began to swim before my eyes. Luckily we were
close to a house. It was a little old domed white house with a long
vine-covered pergola, and it said "Bella Vista" over the gateway. I had
to lean on Brown's arm going in, and the last thing I remember was a
kind-faced man hurrying to the door. The next thing I was in a big white
bedroom, sparsely furnished and daintily neat. I had fainted and they
had sent for a doctor. Presently he appeared, and afterwards I found out
that he was quite a celebrity--the "Doctor Antonio" of Capri. He said it
was the sun; I hadn't eaten enough breakfast, and I'd had a
"heat-stroke"--not half so bad as a sun-stroke; still, I ought to rest.

I was quite willing to obey the prescription, for I was falling in love
with the house, and longed to stay in it for days. The room I was in had
four windows, each one looking out on a view that stay-at-home people
would give hundreds of dollars to see; and it opened on to a lovely
private terrace. Brown took a message "downstairs" to Capri, asking Aunt
Mary to pack up and come to the Bella Vista, which she did, and we've
been here for two days. I was quite well in a few hours, but I wouldn't
have gone back to more conventional comforts for anything. Anacapri and
our little house seem as if they were in the world on top of the clouds
which Jack discovered when he climbed his beanstalk up into the sky.
Why, the first morning when I waked here, and opened my glass door on to
the terrace to look at the sea, and the umbrella pines, and the
cypresses (which I seem to _hear_, as well as see, like sharp notes in
music), four or five large white clouds got up from the terrace where
they'd been sitting and sneaked past me through the door into the room,
just like the cows which, I suppose, the gods kept on Olympus to milk
for their ambrosia. And the sunsets, with Vesuvius set like a great
conical amethyst in a blaze of ruby and topaz glory! It is someth