Белые люди
Chapter VII
Isanksosoftly—andjustasmycheekalmosttouchedthegrassthedreamwasover!”
“Oh!”criedMrs.MacNairn.“Didyouawaken?”
“No.Icameback.InmysleepIsuddenlyfoundmyselfcreepingintomybedagainasifIhadbeenawaysomewhere.IwaswonderingwhyIwasthere,howIhadleftthehillside,whenIhadleftit.ThatpartWASadream—buttheotherwasnot.Iwasallowedtogosomewhere—outside—andcomeback.”
Icaughtatherhandinthedark.
“Thewordsareallwrong,”Isaid.“Itisbecausewehavenowordstodescribethat.ButhaveImadeyoufeelitatall?Oh!Mrs.MacNairn,haveIbeenabletomakeyouknowthatitwasnotadream?”
Sheliftedmyhandandpresseditpassionatelyagainsthercheek,andhercheek,too,waswet—wet.
“No,itwasnotadream,”shesaid.“Youcameback.ThankGodyoucameback,justtotellusthatthosewhodonotcomebackstandawakenedinthatecstasy—inthatecstasy.AndTheFearisnothing.ItisonlyTheDream.Theawakeningisoutonthehillside,outonthehillside!Listen!”Shestartedasshesaidit.“Listen!Thenightingaleisbeginningagain.”
Hesentforthinthedarkafountain—arising,aspiringfountain—ofgoldennoteswhichseemedtoreachheavenitself.Thenightwasmaderadiantbythem.Heflungthemupwardlikeashowerofstarsintothesky.Wesatandlistened,almostholdingourbreath.Oh!thenightingale!thenightingale!
“Heknows,”HectorMacNairn’slowvoicesaid,“thatitwasnotadream.”
WhentherewassilenceagainIheardhimleavehischairveryquietly.
