There Nycteris sat, and there the youth lay, all night long, in the
heart of the great cone-shadow of the earth, like two Pharaohs in one
pyramid. Photogen slept, and slept; and Nycteris sat motionless lest she
should waken him, and so betray him to his fear.
The moon rode high in the blue eternity; it was a very triumph of
glorious Night; the river ran babble-murmuring in deep soft syllables;
the fountain kept rushing moonward, and blossoming momently to a great
silvery flower, whose petals were forever falling like snow, but with a
continuous musical clash, into the bed of its exhaustion beneath; the
wind woke, took a run among the trees, went to sleep, and woke again;
the daisies slept on their feet at hers, but she did not know they
slept; the roses might well seem awake, for their scent filled the air,
but in truth they slept also, and the odor was that of their dreams; the
oranges hung like gold lamps in the trees, and their silvery flowers
were the souls of their yet unembodied children; the scent of the acacia
blooms filled the air like the very odor of the moon herself.
At last, unused to the living air, and weary with sitting so still and
so long, Nycteris grew drowsy. The air began to grow cool. It was
getting near the time when she too was accustomed to sleep. She closed
her eyes just a moment, and nodded--opened them suddenly wide, for she
had promised to watch.
In that moment a change had come. The moon had got round, and was
fronting her from the west, and she saw that her face was altered, that
she had grown pale, as if she too were wan with fear, and from her lofty
place espied a coming terror. The light seemed to be dissolving out of
her; she was dying--she was going out! And yet everything around looked
strangely clear--clearer than ever she had seen anything before: how
could the lamp be shedding more light when she herself had less? Ah,
that was just it! See how faint she looked! It was because the light was
forsaking her, and spreading itself over the room, that she grew so thin
and pale. She was melting away from the roof like a bit of sugar in
water.
Nycteris was fast growing afraid, and sought refuge with the face upon
her lap. How beautiful the creature was!--what to call it she could not
think, for it had been angry when she called it what Watho called her.
And, wonder upon wonder! now, even in the cold change that was passing
upon the great room, the color as of a red rose was rising in the wan
cheek. What beautiful yellow hair it was that spread over her lap! What
great huge breaths the creature took! And what were those curious things
it carried? She had seen them on her walls, she was sure.
Thus she talked to herself while the lamp grew paler and paler, and
everything kept growing yet clearer. What could it mean? The lamp was
dying--going out into the other place of which the creature in her lap
had spoken, to be a sun! But why were the things growing clearer before
it was yet a sun? That was the point. Was it her growing into a sun that
did it? Yes! yes! it was coming death! She knew it, for it was coming
upon her also! She felt it coming! What was she about to grow into?
Something beautiful, like the creature in her lap? It might be! Anyhow,
it must be death; for all her strength was going out of her, while all
around her was growing so light she could not bear it!
Photogen woke, lifted his head from her lap, and sprang to his feet. His
face was one radiant smile. His heart was full of daring. Nycteris gave
a cry, covered her face with her hands, and pressed her eyelids close.
Then blindly she stretched out her arms to Photogen, crying, "Oh, I am
so frightened! What is this? It must be death! I don't wish to die yet.
I love this room and the old lamp. I do not want the other place! This
is terrible!"
"What is the matter with you, girl?" said Photogen. "There is no fear of
anything now, child. It is day. The sun is all but up. Good-by. Thank
you for my night's lodging. I'm off. Don't be a goose. If ever I can do
anything for you--and all that, you know--"
"Don't leave me; oh, don't leave me!" cried Nycteris. "I am dying! I can
not move. The light sucks all the strength out of me. And oh, I am _so_
frightened!"
But already Photogen had splashed through the river, holding high his
bow that it might not get wet. He rushed across the level, and strained
up the opposing hill. Hearing no answer, Nycteris removed her hands.
Photogen had reached the top, and the same moment the sun-rays alighted
upon him: the glory of the king of day crowded blazing upon the
golden-haired youth. Radiant as Apollo, he stood in mighty strength, a
flashing shape in the midst of flame. He fitted a glowing arrow to a
gleaming bow. The arrow parted with a keen musical twang of the
bowstring, and Photogen darting after it, vanished with a shout. Up shot
Apollo himself, and from his quiver scattered astonishment and
exultation. But the brain of poor Nycteris was pierced through and
through. She fell down in utter darkness. All around her was a flaming
furnace. In despair and feebleness and agony she crept back, feeling her
way with doubt and difficulty and enforced persistence to her cell. When
at last the friendly darkness of her chamber folded her about with its
cooling and consoling arms, she threw herself on her bed and fell fast
asleep. And there she slept on, one alive in a tomb, while Photogen,
above in the sun-glory, pursued the buffaloes on the lofty plain,
thinking not once of her where she lay dark and forsaken, whose
presence had been his refuge, her eyes and her hands his guardians
through the night. He was in his glory and his pride; and the darkness
and its disgrace had vanished for a time.