Таинственный сад
XXVII. In The Garden
Hehadbeenonthetopsofmountainswhoseheadswereinthecloudsandhadlookeddownonothermountainswhenthesunroseandtouchedthemwithsuchlightasmadeitseemasiftheworldwerejustbeingborn.
Butthelighthadneverseemedtotouchhimselfuntilonedaywhenherealizedthatforthefirsttimeintenyearsastrangethinghadhappened.HewasinawonderfulvalleyintheAustrianTyrolandhehadbeenwalkingalonethroughsuchbeautyasmighthavelifted,anyman’ssouloutofshadow.Hehadwalkedalongwayandithadnotliftedhis.Butatlasthehadfelttiredandhadthrownhimselfdowntorestonacarpetofmossbyastream.Itwasaclearlittlestreamwhichranquitemerrilyalongonitsnarrowwaythroughthelusciousdampgreenness.Sometimesitmadeasoundratherlikeverylowlaughterasitbubbledoverandroundstones.Hesawbirdscomeanddiptheirheadstodrinkinitandthenflicktheirwingsandflyaway.Itseemedlikeathingaliveandyetitstinyvoicemadethestillnessseemdeeper.Thevalleywasvery,verystill.
Ashesatgazingintotheclearrunningofthewater,ArchibaldCravengraduallyfelthismindandbodybothgrowquiet,asquietasthevalleyitself.Hewonderedifheweregoingtosleep,buthewasnot.Hesatandgazedatthesunlitwaterandhiseyesbegantoseethingsgrowingatitsedge.Therewasonelovelymassofblueforget-me-notsgrowingsoclosetothestreamthatitsleaveswerewetandatthesehefoundhimselflookingasherememberedhehadlookedatsuchthingsyearsago.
