CHAPTER VIII. THE LAMP.

Watho having given orders, took it for granted they were obeyed, and

that Falca was all night long with Nycteris, whose day it was. But

Falca could not get into the habit of sleeping through the day, and

would often leave her alone half the night. Then it seemed to Nycteris

that the white lamp was watching over her. As it was never permitted

to go out--while she was awake at least--Nycteris, except by shutting

her eyes, knew less about darkness than she did about light. Also, the

lamp being fixed high overhead, and in the centre of everything, she

did not know much about shadows either. The few there were fell almost

entirely on the floor, or kept like mice about the foot of the walls.

Once, when she was thus alone, there came the noise of a far-off

rumbling: she had never before heard a sound of which she did not know

the origin, and here therefore was a new sign of something beyond

these chambers. Then came a trembling, then a shaking; the lamp

dropped from the ceiling to the floor with a great crash, and she felt

as if both her eyes were hard shut and both her hands over them. She

concluded that it was the darkness that had made the rumbling and the

shaking, and rushing into the room, had thrown down the lamp. She sat

trembling. The noise and the shaking ceased, but the light did not

return. The darkness had eaten it up!

Her lamp gone, the desire at once awoke to get out of her prison. She

scarcely knew what _out_ meant; out of one room into another, where

there was not even a dividing door, only an open arch, was all she

knew of the world. But suddenly she remembered that she had heard

Falca speak of the lamp _going out_: this must be what she had meant?

And if the lamp had gone out, where had it gone? Surely where Falca

went, and like her it would come again. But she could not wait. The

desire to go out grew irresistible. She must follow her beautiful

lamp! She must find it! She must see what it was about!

Now there was a curtain covering a recess in the wall, where some of

her toys and gymnastic things were kept; and from behind that curtain

Watho and Falca always appeared, and behind it they vanished. How they

came out of solid wall, she had not an idea, all up to the wall was

open space, and all beyond it seemed wall; but clearly the first and

only thing she could do, was to feel her way behind the curtain. It

was so dark that a cat could not have caught the largest of mice.

Nycteris could see better than any cat, but now her great eyes were

not of the smallest use to her. As she went she trod upon a piece of

the broken lamp. She had never worn shoes or stockings, and the

fragment, though, being of soft alabaster, it did not cut, yet hurt

her foot. She did not know what it was, but as it had not been there

before the darkness came, she suspected that it had to do with the

lamp. She kneeled therefore, and searched with her hands, and bringing

two large pieces together, recognized the shape of the lamp. Therewith

it flashed upon her that the lamp was dead, that this brokenness was

the death of which she had read without understanding, that the

darkness had killed the lamp. What then could Falca have meant when

she spoke of the lamp _going out_? There was the lamp--dead, indeed,

and so changed that she would never have taken it for a lamp but for

the shape! No, it was not the lamp any more now it was dead, for all

that made it a lamp was gone, namely, the bright shining of it. Then

it must be the shine, the light, that had gone out! That must be what

Falca meant--and it must be somewhere in the other place in the wall.

She started afresh after it, and groped her way to the curtain.

Now she had never in her life tried to get out, and did not know how;

but instinctively she began to move her hands about over one of the

walls behind the curtain, half expecting them to go into it, as she

supposed Watho and Falca did. But the wall repelled her with

inexorable hardness, and she turned to the one opposite. In so doing,

she set her foot upon an ivory die, and as it met sharply the same

spot the broken alabaster had already hurt, she fell forward with her

outstretched hands against the wall. Something gave way, and she

tumbled out of the cavern.

Stephen Archer, and Other Tales · 第 8 / 22 章