To help you to estimate her conduct at its full temerity I may mention that Miss Limpenny had never attempted the climb before in her life.
But whatever qualms she may have felt, they did not appear in her behaviour.

Gingerly, but without hesitation, and clutching the telescope, which impeded her as an ice-axe the rock-climber, she essayed all the perils of this maiden ascent.
Five minutes' stiff climbing, as they say in the _Alpine Journal_, brought her to a point where she could take breath and look about her.

Despite her terror, the excitement and the light breeze now blowing over the _arete_ of garden wall, had brought a flush to her cheek.

But scarcely had she resumed and set her foot upon the summit, when the flush suddenly faded, and left her blanched as snow.
For there, not a foot to her right, and above the crest of the partition wall, rose another telescope, the exact counterpart of her own! The Spectre on the Brocken was nothing to this.
She clutched at the rotten stones and panted for breath.
Slowly, very slowly, the rival telescope was tilted up against the harbour-wall; very slowly it rose in air.

Then came a pair of hands--of blue cuffs--and then--the crimson face of Admiral Buzza soared into view, like the child's head in _Macbeth_.
He did not see her yet, being absorbed in adjusting the telescope.
Terror-smitten, too fearful to advance or retreat, clinging to the telescope with one hand as a drowning mariner might grasp a spar, and clutching with the other at the crumbling wall, Miss Limpenny stood arrested, wildly staring, scarce venturing to breathe.
The Admiral's telescope was tilted into position, and the Admiral half-turned his head before applying his eye to the hole.
She could not help it.