Спрут: Калифорнийская история

           Butforallthat,hehadcomeasecondnighttothegarden,andathird,andafourth.Atlast,hisvisitswerehabitual.Nightafternighthewasthere,surrenderinghimselftotheinfluencesoftheplace,graduallyconvincedthatsomethingdidactuallyanswerwhenhecalled.Hisfaithincreasedasthewintergrewintospring.Asthespringadvancedandthenightsbecameshorter,itcrystallisedintocertainty.Wouldhehaveheragain,hislove,longdead?Wouldshecometohimoncemoreoutofthegrave,outofthenight?Hecouldnottell;hecouldonlyhope.Allthatheknewwasthathiscryfoundananswer,thathisoutstretchedhands,gropinginthedarkness,metthetouchofotherfingers.Patientlyhewaited.Thenightsbecamewarmerasthespringdrewon.Thestarsshoneclearer.Thenightsseemedbrighter.Fornearlyamonthaftertheoccasionofhisfirstanswernothingnewoccurred.Somenightsitfailedhimentirely;uponothersitwasfaint,illusive.

           Then,atlast,themostsubtle,thebarestofperceptiblechangesbegan.Hisgropingmindfar-offthere,wanderinglikealostbirdoverthevalley,toucheduponsomethingagain,touchedandhelditandthistimedrewitasinglestepclosertohim.Hisheartbeating,thebloodsurginginhistemples,hewatchedwiththeeyesofhisimagination,thisgradualapproach.Whatwascomingtohim?Whowascomingtohim?Shroudedintheobscurityofthenight,whosewasthefacenowturnedtowardshis?Whosethefootstepsthatwithsuchinfiniteslownessdrewnearertowherehewaited?Hedidnotdaretosay.