g with fixed interest at unclosing buds. When they
were fully opened, he ate them; this, however, was not gluttony, but
appreciation; it was his only way of showing his admiration, and a very
expressive one, Garda thought.
"Remarkably," observed the Doctor. "Captain Cook was of the same
opinion."
The live-oak avenue brought them to the open space which surrounded the
house; crossing this space, they took a path that came up to its border
from the opposite direction. This second avenue was a green arched walk,
whose roof of leaves seemed, as one looked down it, sure to touch the
head; but it never did, it was an illusion produced by the stretching
vista of the long aisle. The same illusion made the opposite entrance at
the far end--a half-circle of yellow light shining in from outside--seem
so low, so near the ground, that one would inevitably be forced to creep
through it on one's hands and knees when one had reached it, there would
be no other way. This, again, was an illusion, the aisle was eight feet
in height throughout its length. This long arbor had been formed by
bitter-sweet orange-trees. Not a ray of the sunshine without could
penetrate the thick foliage; but the clear light color of the shining
leaves themselves, with the sunshine touching them everywhere outside,
made a cheerful radiance within, and the aisle was further illuminated
by the large, warm-looking globes of the fruit, thickly hanging like
golden lamps from the roof of branches. There was an indescribably
fresh youthfulness in this golden-green light, it was as different from
the rich dark shade cast by the magnolias as from the gray stillness
under the old live-oaks.
Through this orange aisle it pleased Miss Thorne to walk with Evert
Winthrop. Mrs. Thorne came next, with the Rev. Dr. Moore; Dr. Kirby
followed at a little distance, walking alone, and resting, if not his
feet, at least his conversational powers. The two younger men were last,
and some yards behind the others, Torres advancing with his usual
woodenness of joint, not indulging in much conversation, but giving a
guarded Spanish monosyllable now and then to his New World compatriot,
who, still angry, let his slender cane strike the trunks of the
orange-trees as they passed along, these strokes being carefully watched
by Torres, who turned his thin neck stiffly each time, like an
automaton, to see if the bark had received injury.
"We make quite a little procession," said Winthrop
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