Белые люди
Chapter I
Itwasmysecretandhers.Icantellyou,Ysobel.ThechangeIsawwasasifshewasbeginningtolistentosomething—tolisten.
“Itwasasiftoasound—far,farawayatfirst.Butcoldandwhiteasstoneshelaycontent,andlistened.Inthenexthourthefar-offsoundhaddrawnnearer,andithadbecomesomethingelse—somethingshesaw—somethingwhichsawher.Firstheryoungmarblefacehadpeaceinit;thenithadjoy.Shewaitedinheryoungstonebodyuntilyouwerebornandshecouldbreakforth.Shewaitednolongerthen.
“Ysobel,mybairn,whatIknewwasthathehadnotgonefarfromthebodythathadheldhimwhenhefell.Perhapshehadfeltlostforabitwhenhefoundhimselfoutofit.Butsoonhehadbeguntocalltoherthatwaslikehisownhearttohim.Andshehadheard.Andthen,beinghalfawayfromearthherself,shehadseenhimandknownhewaswaiting,andthathewouldnotleaveforanyfarplacewithouther.Shewassostillthatthebigdoctorsthoughtmorethanonceshehadpassed.ButIknewbetter.”
ItwaslongbeforeIwasoldenoughtobetoldanythinglikethisthatIbegantofeelthatthemoorwasinsecretmycompanionandfriend,thatitwasnotonlythemoortome,butsomethingelse.Itwaslikeathingalive—ahugegiantlyingspreadoutinthesunwarmingitself,orcoveringitselfwiththick,whitemistwhichsometimeswrithedandtwisteditselfintowraiths.FirstInoticedandlikeditsomeday,perhaps,whenitwaspurpleandyellowwithgorseandheatherandbroom,andthehoneyscentsdrewbeesandbutterfliesandbirds.
