"The Gold House!" said Alan to himself with a gasp. "So it is not a
dream or a lie."
The details at that distance he could not discover, nor did he try to
do so, for the general glory of the scene held him in its grip. At this
evening hour, for a little while, the level rays of the setting sun
poured straight up the huge, water-hollowed kloof. They struck upon the
face of the fall, staining it and the clouds of mist that hung above,
to a hundred glorious hues; indeed the substance of the foaming water
seemed to be interlaced with rainbows whereof the arch reached their
crest and the feet were lost in the sullen blackness of the pool
beneath. Beautiful too was the valley, glowing in the quiet light of
evening, and even the native town thus gilded and glorified, looked like
some happy home of peace.
The sun was sinking rapidly, and before the litter reached the foot of
the hill and began to cross the rich valley, all the glory had departed
and only the cataract showed white and ghost-like through the gloom.
But still the light, which seemed to gather to itself, gleamed upon that
golden roof amid the cedar trees; then the moon rose and the gold was
turned to silver.
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