dawning through it the face of the lovely creature who on that first
awful night nursed him so sweetly: was he never to see her again? If she
was, as he had concluded, the nymph of the river, why had she not
re-appeared? She might have taught him not to fear the night, for
plainly she had no fear of it herself! But then, when the day came, she
did seem frightened: why was that, seeing there was nothing to be afraid
of then? Perhaps one so much at home in the darkness was correspondingly
afraid of the light! Then his selfish joy at the rising of the sun,
blinding him to her condition, had made him behave to her, in ill return
for her kindness, as cruelly as Watho behaved to him! How sweet and dear
and lovely she was! If there were wild beasts that came out only at
night, and were afraid of the light, why should there not be girls too,
made the same way--who could not endure the light, as he could not bear
the darkness? If only he could find her again! Ah, how differently he
would behave to her! But alas! perhaps the sun had killed her--melted
her--burned her up!--dried her up: that was it, if she was the nymph of
the river.
XVII.--WATHO'S WOLF.
From that dreadful morning Nycteris had never got to be herself again.
The sudden light had been almost death to her; and now she lay in the
dark with the memory of a terrific sharpness--a something she dared
scarcely recall, lest the very thought of it should sting her beyond
endurance. But this was as nothing to the pain which the recollection of
the rudeness of the shining creature whom she had nursed through his
fear caused her; for the moment his suffering passed over to her, and he
was free, the first use he made of his returning strength had been to
scorn her! She wondered and wondered; it was all beyond her
comprehension.
Before long, Watho was plotting evil against her. The witch was like a
sick child weary of his toy: she would pull her to pieces, and see how
she liked it. She would set her in the sun, and see her die, like a
jelly-fish from the salt ocean cast out on a hot rock. It would be a
sight to soothe her wolf-pain. One day, therefore, a little before noon,
while Nycteris was in her deepest sleep, she had a darkened litter
brought to the door, and in that she made two of her men carry her to
the plain above. There they took her out, laid her on the grass, and
left her.
Watho watched it all from the top of her high tower, through her
telescope; and scarcely was Nycteris left, when she saw her sit up, and
the same moment cast herself down again with her face to the ground.
"She'll have a sun-stroke," said Watho, "and that'll be the end of her."
Presently, tormented by a fly, a huge-humped buffalo, with great shaggy
mane, came galloping along, straight for where she lay. At sight of the
thing on the grass he started, swerved yards aside, stopped dead, and
then came slowly up, looking malicious. Nycteris lay quite still, and
never even saw the animal.
"Now she'll be trodden to death!" said Watho.
When the buffalo reached her, he sniffed at her all over, and went away;
then came back and sniffed again; then all at once went off as if a
demon had him by the tail.
Next came a gnu, then a gaunt wild boar. But no creature hurt her, and
Watho was angry with the whole creation.
At length, in the shade of her hair, the blue eyes of Nycteris began to
come to themselves a little, and the first thing they saw was a comfort.
I have told already how she knew the night daisies, each a sharp-pointed
little cone with a red tip; and once she had parted the rays of one of
them, with trembling fingers, for she was afraid she was dreadfully
rude, and perhaps was hurting it; but she did want, she said to herself,
to see what secret it carried so carefully hidden; and she found its
golden heart. But now, right under her eyes, inside the veil of her
hair, in the sweet twilight of whose blackness she could see it
perfectly, stood a daisy with its red tip opened wide into a carmine
ring, displaying its heart of gold on a platter of silver. She did not
at first recognize it as one of those cones come awake, but a moment's
notice revealed what it was. Who, then, could have been so cruel to the
lovely little creature as to force it open like that, and spread it
heart-bare to the terrible death-lamp? Whoever it was, it must be the
same that had thrown her out there to be burned to death in its fire!
But she had her hair, and could hang her head, and make a small sweet
night of her own about her! She tried to bend the daisy down and away
from the sun, and to make its petals hang about it like her hair, but
she could not. Alas! it was burned and dead already! She did not know
that it could not yield to her gentle force because it was drinking
life, with all the eagerness of life, from what she called the
death-lamp. Oh, how the lamp burned her!
But she went on thinking--she did not know how; and by-and-by began to
reflect that, as there was no roof to the room except that in which the
great fire went rolling about, the little Red-tip must have seen the
lamp a thousand times, and must know it quite well! and it had not
killed it! Nay, thinking about it farther, she began to ask the question
whether this, in which she now saw it, might not be its more perfect
condition. For now not only did the whole seem perfect, as indeed it did
before, but every part showed its own individual perfection as well,
which perfection made it capable of combining with the rest into the
higher perfection of a whole. The flower was a lamp itself! The golden
heart was the light, and the silver border was the alabaster globe
skillfully broken and spread wide to let out the glory. Yes; the radiant
shape was plainly its perfection! If, then, it was the lamp which had
opened it into that shape, the lamp could not be unfriendly to it, but
must be of its own kind, seeing it made it perfect! And again, when she
thought of it, there was clearly no little resemblance between them.
What if the flower, then, was the little great-grandchild of the lamp,
and he was loving it all the time? And what if the lamp did not mean to
hurt her, only could not help it? The red tips looked as if the flower
had some time or other been hurt: what if the lamp was making the best
it could of her--opening her out somehow like the flower? She would bear
it patiently, and see. But how coarse the color of the grass was!
Perhaps, however, her eyes not being made for the bright lamp, she did
not see them as they were! Then she remembered how different were the
eyes of the creature that was not a girl, and was afraid of the
darkness! Ah, if the darkness would only come again, all arms, friendly
and soft everywhere about her!
She lay so still that Watho thought she had fainted. She was pretty sure
she would be dead before the night came to revive her.
XVIII.--REFUGE.
Fixing her telescope on the motionless form, that she might see it at
once when the morning came, Watho went down from the tower to Photogen's
room. He was much better by this time, and before she left him he had
resolved to leave the castle that very night.
The darkness was terrible indeed, but Watho was worse than even the
darkness, and he could not escape in the day. As soon, therefore, as the
house seemed still, he tightened his belt, hung to it his hunting knife,
put a flask of wine and some bread in his pocket, and took his bow and
arrows. He got from the house, and made his way at once up to the plain.
But what with his illness, the terrors of the night, and his dread of
the wild beasts, when he got to the level he could not walk a step
farther, and sat down, thinking it better to die than to live. In spite
of his fears, however, sleep contrived to overcome him, and he fell at
full length on the soft grass.
He had not slept long when he woke with such a strange sense of comfort
and security that he thought the dawn at least must have arrived. But it
was dark night about him. And the sky--no, it was not the sky, but the
blue eyes of his naiad looking down upon him! Once more he lay with his
head in her lap, and all was well, for plainly the girl feared the
darkness as little as he the day.
"Thank you," he said. "You are like live armor to my heart; you keep the
fear off me. I have been very ill since then. Did you come up out of the
river when you saw me cross?"
"I don't live in the water," she answered. "I live under the pale lamp,
and I die under the bright one."
"Ah, yes! I understand now," he returned. "I would not have behaved as
I did last time if I had understood; but I thought you were mocking me;
and I am so made that I can not help being frightened at the darkness. I
beg your pardon for leaving you as I did, for, as I say, I did not
understand. Now I believe you were really frightened. Were you not?"
[Illustration: "WHAT IS THIS? IT MUST BE DEATH!"]
"I was, indeed," answered Nycteris, "and shall be again. But why you
should be, I can not in the least understand. You must know how gentle
and sweet the darkness is, how kind and friendly, how soft and velvety!
It holds you to its bosom and loves you. A little while ago I lay faint
and dying under your hot lamp. What is it you call it?"
"The sun," murmured Photogen: "how I wish he would make haste!"
"Ah! do not wish that. Do not, for my sake, hurry him. I can take care
of you from the darkness, but I have no one to take care of me from the
light.--As I was telling you, I lay dying in the sun. All at once I drew
a deep breath. A cool wind came and ran over my face. I looked up. The
torture was gone, for the death-lamp itself was gone. I hope he does not
die and grow brighter yet. My terrible headache was all gone, and my
sight was come back. I felt as if I were new made. But I did not get up
at once, for I was tired still. The grass grew cool about me, and turned
soft in color. Something wet came upon it, and it was now so pleasant to
my feet that I rose and ran about. And when I had been running about a
long time, all at once I found you lying, just as I had been lying a
little while before. So I sat down beside you to take care of you, till
your life--and my death--should come again."
"How good you are, you beautiful creature! Why, you forgave me before
ever I asked you!" cried Photogen.
Thus they fell a-talking, and he told her what he knew of his history,
and she told him what she knew of hers, and they agreed they must get
away from Watho as far as ever they could.
"And we must set out at once," said Nycteris.
"The moment the morning comes," returned Photogen.
"We must not wait for the morning," said Nycteris, "for then I shall not
be able to move, and what would you do the next night? Besides, Watho
sees best in the daytime. Indeed, you must come now, Photogen. You
must."
"I can not; I dare not," said Photogen. "I can not move. If I but lift
my head from your lap, the very sickness of terror seizes me."
"I shall be with you," said Nycteris, soothingly. "I will take care of
you till your dreadful sun comes, and then you may leave me, and go away
as fast as you can. Only please put me in a dark place first, if there
is one to be found."
"I will never leave you again, Nycteris," cried Photogen. "Only wait
till the sun comes and brings me back my strength, and we will go away
together, and never, never part any more."
"No, no," persisted Nycteris; "we must go now. And you must learn to be
strong in the dark as well as in the day, else you will always be only
half brave. I have begun already, not to fight your sun, but to try to
get at peace with him, and understand what he really is, and what he
means with me--whether to hurt me or to make the best of me. You must do
the same with my darkness."
"But you don't know what mad animals there are away there toward the
south," said Photogen. "They have huge green eyes, and they would eat
you up like a bit of celery, you beautiful creature!"
"Come! come! you must," said Nycteris, "or I shall have to pretend to
leave you, to make you come. I have seen the green eyes you speak of,
and I will take care of you from them."
"You! How can you do that? If it were day now, I could take care of you
from the worst of them. But as it is, I can't even see them for this
abominable darkness. I could not see your lovely eyes but for the light
that is in them; that lets me see straight into heaven through them.
They are windows into the very heaven beyond the sky. I believe they are
the very place where the stars are made."
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
[Illustration: AN EMBARRASSMENT OF RICHES.--DRAWN BY J. E. KELLY.]
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WIGGLES.
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