But Ruby had fallen asleep. “What a lovely morsel for sacrifice!” said Quentin, looking down at her. 14 Ambrose’s narrative proceeds with the same observant calm; and it is from the heightened colour of the things he has to describe, and the heightened emotion of the conversation he has to set down, rather than from any deliberately enhanced passion of his language, that we derive our impression of the beauty of the Peach-blossom Valley. He shows us the lagoons, the valleys, the oyster-shaped rocks and the distant mountains, and he describes the reactions of his companions, without intervention of sentimental comment. It seems that in the misty, serene and summer-promising loveliness of the next daybreak they embarked and entered the gorge almost without waiting for breakfast, undeterred, confirmed even in their resolution, by the disappearance of all the servants, except Such-a-one, who explained that they regarded the manifestation of the Dragon as a warning, and would undoubtedly spread the news, as they returned to their villages, that the whole party had been carried away. The mists had scarcely lifted from the quivering reeds, and the sky was still all blue and rose, when they poled across the clear black water and entered the gorge. There proved to be nothing formidable or gloomy in the gorge. It was wide and, when mists lifted, warm sunlight poured down among rock shapes of a dream, throwing queer shadows on the water. Their passage along these fantastic corridors was slow. The sails were useless, and the water was too deep for the pole, so that progress could only be made by the use of paddles and by pushing on the fissures and protuberances of the rock. But it was not easy, for the boats were heavy, and either they were continually bumping on a buttress or coming neatly to rest in an angle, or else one had to paddle against the stream over an open sheet of water, for here and there the gorge widened into a mountain-locked lake, and there were arms of the lake running into green mountain-valleys, and wide bays and beaches bordered with majestic groves of the tall, springing bamboo. There were also dragon-hiding pools under contorted cliffs, black waters and shadowy flights of fish. They all worked silently with pole and paddle. At last Quentin wiped the sweat off his face and asked: “Who’ll swim with me in the Gorge of Dragons?” “I will.” The voices of Lychnis and Ruby chimed high among the rocks, echoed by Fulke Arnott. “Wait a minute,” put in Lord Sombrewater. “Is it safe, swimming here?” He addressed Such-a-one. The Chinaman smiled gravely. “The river is warm and sweet and clear, Excellence. There are few reeds in the channel, and there is nothing more formidable, by day, than pike. These, however, are voracious.”