This
time they went up steps instead of down, and at the top of them was a
little path that wound upwards among flowers. They could not see the
flowers, but the whole place was evidently full of them.
It here dawned on Mrs. Wilkins that perhaps the reason why the fly had
not driven them up to the door was that there was no road, only a
footpath. That also would explain the disappearance of the suit-cases.
She began to feel confident that they would find their suit-cases
waiting for them when they got up to the top. San Salvatore was, it
seemed, on the top of a hill, as a mediaeval castle should be. At a
turn of the path they saw above them, much nearer now and shining
more brightly, the light they had seen from the quay. She told Mrs.
Arbuthnot of her dawning belief, and Mrs. Arbuthnot agreed that it was
very likely a true one.
Once more, but this time in a tone of real hopefulness, Mrs.
Wilkins said, pointing upwards at the black outline against the only
slightly less black sky, "San Salvatore?" And once more, but this time
comfortingly, encouragingly, came back the assurance, "Si, si--San
Salvatore."
They crossed a little bridge, over what was apparently a ravine,
and then came a flat bit with long grass at the sides and more flowers.
They felt the grass flicking wet against their stockings, and the
invisible flowers were everywhere.
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