horns ; in a remote side-chapel a woman and her pretty daughter, holding flowers in their hands, pray alone before a company of colossal Buddhas. The last rays of the setting sun fall on the red-gold fabric, wrapping it in a haze of glory ; the fresh, rain-clear air blows amongst the little bells ; trays of delicate pink flowers
on altars exhale faint odours ; all is serene and strangely beautiful, here on this noble summit under the spaces of heaven.
It is little wonder they come up here to worship. Little wonder that they do not wish to change their faith, and all it means to them, for any other on earth.
As the stars come out, and the dusk of evening