We alighted in another of those operatic showers, and made our way to the gorge, laughing and dashing the rain drops from our faces.  We were not conscious of any particular force of wind, but no sooner were we within those towering walls of rock than a demon power began to tear us into pieces and to urge us in the direction of the broken fence.  The first gust terrified us, and with universal feminine assent we clutched at our skirts and screamed.

The next blast sent combs and hairpins flying, drove our wet hair about our faces, and forced us to release our garments, which behaved most shockingly.  I saw a kind of recess in the cliffs to the right under an overhanging shelf of rock, and, though it was approached by a mud puddle, made straight for it and in temporary quiet let go my threshing skirts and braided my hair.  I could see our driver in the distance, pretending to look after his harness, and indulging in hyaena mirth at the figures we cut.  Then, to make matters worse, there came a shout from the hidden road to the right, and, three abreast, a party of young civil engineers from our ship charged round the corner.

Most of our party sat down in their tracks, and a stifled but heartfelt moan escaped from more than one.  I waded three inches deeper into the mud puddle and flattened myself against a wall of oozy rock with an utterly unfeminine disregard of consequences.

The men were of a thoroughly good sort, however, and, ignoring our plight, insisted on helping us round the corner.  They said that, once we were out of the gorge and on the other face of the mountain, the strong draught ceased.  So each woman took a frenzied grasp of her skirts, and, with an able-bodied man steadying her on each side, made the run and brought up safe on the other side.  There did not seem to be much to see—­nothing but the precipitous face of the cliff towering above us, the road cut out of it, winding steeply down to the right, and the shoulder of the left-hand peak running up into a cloud-swept sky.  Below us was a floor of mist, swaying to unfelt airs, heaving, gray, and sad.

Just about this time a Chinaman arrived—­one of the beast-of-burden sort—­with two immense baskets swung across his shoulders on a bamboo pole.  He made three ineffectual efforts to get round the point, but had to fall on his knees each time, as the wind threatened to sweep him too near the cliff.  So the philanthropic youths went to his assistance as they had come to ours, and piloted him safely round the bend.  We became so much interested in this operation and in the Chinaman’s efforts to express his thanks that we quite forgot our disappointment at the Pali’s unkind behavior.  A sudden gleam of sunshine recalled us.  The clouds which had been dripping down upon us were rent apart to reveal a long streamer of blue, and to give passage to a shaft of sunlight which drove resistlessly through the mist floor.  The fog parted shudderingly,