Таинственный сад
XXVII. In The Garden
Hewasactuallythinkingtenderlyhowlovelyitwasandwhatwondersofblueitshundredsoflittleblossomswere.Hedidnotknowthatjustthatsimplethoughtwasslowlyfillinghismind—fillingandfillingituntilotherthingsweresoftlypushedaside.Itwasasifasweetclearspringhadbeguntoriseinastagnantpoolandhadrisenandrisenuntilatlastitsweptthedarkwateraway.Butofcoursehedidnotthinkofthishimself.Heonlyknewthatthevalleyseemedtogrowquieterandquieterashesatandstaredatthebrightdelicateblueness.Hedidnotknowhowlonghesatthereorwhatwashappeningtohim,butatlasthemovedasifhewereawakeningandhegotupslowlyandstoodonthemosscarpet,drawingalong,deep,softbreathandwonderingathimself.Somethingseemedtohavebeenunboundandreleasedinhim,veryquietly.
“Whatisit?”hesaid,almostinawhisper,andhepassedhishandoverhisforehead.“Ialmostfeelasif—Iwerealive!”
Idonotknowenoughaboutthewonderfulnessofundiscoveredthingstobeabletoexplainhowthishadhappenedtohim.Neitherdoesanyoneelseyet.Hedidnotunderstandatallhimself—butherememberedthisstrangehourmonthsafterwardwhenhewasatMisselthwaiteagainandhefoundoutquitebyaccidentthatonthisverydayColinhadcriedoutashewentintothesecretgarden:
“Iamgoingtoliveforeverandeverandever!”
Thesingularcalmnessremainedwithhimtherestoftheeveningandhesleptanewreposefulsleep;butitwasnotwithhimverylong.Hedidnotknowthatitcouldbekept.
