There came then a sudden blast that swept with a shout across the
night; and through his mind passed also a tumult like a roaring wind.
Both winds, it seemed to him, were in the room at once. He had the
sensation of being lifted from the earth. The candle was extinguished.
And then the sound and terror dipped away again into silence and into
distance whence it came....
* * * * *
He found himself standing stiffly upright, though he had no
recollection of rising from his knees. With an abruptness utterly
disconcerting he was himself again. No item of memory had faded; he
remembered the entire series of events. Only, he was in possession
of his normal mind and powers, fear, awe, and wonder all departed.
Mánya, who had been walking in her sleep, was sitting close before
him in the darkness. He could just distinguish her outline against
the open window. But he was master of himself again. Even the wild
improbability, the extravagance of his own actions, the very lunacy of
the picture that the night now smothered, left him unbewildered. And
the calmness that thus followed the complete transition proved to him
that all he had witnessed, all that had happened, had been--true. In no
single detail was there falseness or distortion due to the excitement
of a hysterical mood. It had been right and inevitable.
He lit the candle again quietly, with a hand that did not tremble. He
saw Mánya sitting on the high-backed chair with her head sunk forward
on her breast. Gently he raised the face. The eyes were now closed, and
the regular, deep breathing showed that the girl was sound asleep--but
with the normal sleep of tired childhood. The Immensity to which he had
knelt and prayed in her was gone, gone from the room, gone out into the
open darkness of the Place. It had visited her, it had used her, it had
left her. But at the same time he understood, as by some infallible
intuition, that the warning to depart she brought him was not yet
complete. It had reached his mind, but not as yet his soul. In its
fulness the Notice to Quit could not be delivered between close, narrow
walls. Its delivery must be outside.
He looked at the sleeping child in silence for several minutes. She sat
there in a semi-collapsed position and in momentary danger of falling
from her chair. The lips were parted, the eyes tight shut, the red
tam-o’-shanter dropping over one side of the face. Both hands were
folded in her lap. By the light of two candles now he watched her,
while the perspiration he had not been as yet aware of, dried upon his
skin and made him shiver with the cold. And, after long hesitation, he
woke her.
With difficulty the girl came to, stared up into his face with a blank
expression, rubbed her eyes, and then, with returning consciousness of
who and where she was, looked mightily astonished.
‘Mánya, child,’ he began gently, ‘don’t be frightened.’
‘I’m not,’ she said at once. ‘But where am I? Is that you, Uncle?’
‘Been walking in your sleep. It’s all right. Nothing’s happened. Come,
I’ll see you back to bed again.’ And he made a gesture as though to
take her hand.
But she avoided him. Still looking bewildered and perplexed, she said:
‘Oh--I remember now--I wanted to go out and see things. I want to go
out still.’ Then she added quickly as the thought struck her, ‘But does
Fräulein know? You haven’t told Fräulein, Uncle, have you? I mean, you
won’t?’
He shook his head. This was no time for chiding.
‘I often go out like this--at night, when you’re all asleep. It’s the
only time now, since----’
He stopped her instantly at that. ‘You fell asleep while dreaming! Was
that it?’ He tried to laugh a little, but the laughter would not come.
‘I suppose so.’ She glanced down at her extraordinary garments. But no
smile came to the eyes or lips. Then she looked round her, and gazed
for a minute through the open window. The rain had ceased, the wind
had died away. Moist, fragrant air stole in with many perfumes. ‘I
don’t remember quite. I was in bed. I had been asleep already, I think.
Then--something woke me.’ She paused. ‘There was something crying in
the night.’
‘Something crying in the night?’ he repeated quickly, half to himself.
She nodded. ‘Crying for me,’ she explained in a tone that sent a
shudder all through him before he could prevent it. ‘So I thought I’d
go out and see. Uncle, I _had_ to go out,’ she added earnestly, still
whispering, ‘because they were crying--to get at you. And unless _I_
brought them--unless they came through me,’ she stopped abruptly, her
eyes grew moist, she was on the verge of tears--‘it would have been so
terrible for you, I mean----’
He stiffened as he heard it. He made a violent effort at control,
stopping her further explanation.
‘And you weren’t afraid--to go out like this into the dark?’ he asked,
more to cover retreat than because he wanted to hear the reply.
‘I put myself out for you,’ she answered simply. ‘I let them come in.
That way you couldn’t get hurt. In me they had to come gently. They
were an army. Only, nothing out of me could hurt you, Uncle.’ She
suddenly put her arms about his neck and kissed him. ‘Oh, Uncle Dick,
it _was_ lucky I was there and ready, wasn’t it?’
And Eliot, remembering that great Disturbance in the woods, pressed the
child tenderly to himself, praying that she might not understand his
heart too well, nor feel the cold that made his entire body tremble
like a leaf. He had thought of an angry animal Presence lurking in
the darkness. It had been bigger than that, and a thousand times more
dangerous!
‘You see,’ she added with a little gasp for breath when he released
her, ‘they waked me up on purpose. I dressed at an awful rate. I got to
the door--I remember that perfectly well--and then----’ An expression
of bewilderment came into her face again.
‘Yes,’ he helped her, ‘and then--what?’
‘Well, I forget exactly; but something stopped me. Something came all
round me and took me in their arms. It was like arms of wind. I was
lifted up and carried in the air. And after that I forget the rest,
forget everything--till now.’
She stopped. She took off her tam-o’-shanter and smoothed her untidy
hair back from the forehead. And as he looked a moment at her--this
little human organism still vibrating with the passage of a universal
Power that had obsessed her, making her far more than merely child,
yet still leaving in her the sweetness of her simple love--he came to
a sudden, bold decision. He would face the thing complete. He would go
outside.
‘Mánya,’ he whispered, looking hard at her, ‘would you like to go
out--now--with me? Come, child! Suppose we go together!’
She stared at him, then darted about the room with little springs of
excitement. She clapped her hands softly, her eyes alight and shining.
‘Uncle Dick! You really mean it? Wouldn’t it be grand!’
‘Of course, I mean it. See! I’m dressed and ready!’ And he pointed to
his boots and clothes.
‘It’s the very best thing we can do, really,’ she said, trying to
speak gravely, but the mischievous element uppermost at the idea of
the secret nocturnal journey. ‘They’ll see that you’re not afraid, and
you’ll be safe then for ever and ever and ever! Hooray!’
She twirled the tam-o’-shanter in the air above her head, skipping in
her childish joy.
‘And we’ll go past Fräulein’s door,’ she insisted mischievously, as
he took her outstretched hand and led the way on tiptoe down the dark
front stairs.
‘Hush!’ he whispered gruffly. ‘Don’t talk so loud.’
She fastened up her garments, and they moved like shadows through the
sleeping house.