It was some time before she had a second opportunity of going out, for
Falca, since the fall of the lamp, had been a little more careful, and
seldom left her for long. But one night, having a little headache,
Nycteris lay down upon her bed, and was lying with her eyes closed,
when she heard Falca come to her, and felt she was bending over her.
Disinclined to talk, she did not open her eyes, and lay quite still.
Satisfied that she was asleep, Falca left her, moving so softly that
her very caution made Nycteris open her eyes and look after her--just
in time to see her vanish--through a picture, as it seemed, that hung
on the wall a long way from the usual place of issue. She jumped up,
her headache forgotten, and ran in the opposite direction; got out,
groped her way to the stair, climbed, and reached the top of the
wall.--Alas! the great room was not so light as the little one she had
left. Why?--Sorrow of sorrows! the great lamp was gone! Had its globe
fallen? and its lovely light gone out upon great wings, a resplendent
firefly, oaring itself through a yet grander and lovelier room? She
looked down to see if it lay anywhere broken to pieces on the carpet
below; but she could not even see the carpet. But surely nothing very
dreadful could have happened--no rumbling or shaking, for there were
all the little lamps shining brighter than before, not one of them
looking as if any unusual matter had befallen. What if each of those
little lamps was growing into a big lamp, and after being a big lamp
for a while, had to go out and grow a bigger lamp still--out there,
beyond this _out_?--Ah! here was the living thing that would not be
seen, come to her again--bigger to-night! with such loving kisses, and
such liquid strokings of her cheeks and forehead, gently tossing her
hair, and delicately toying with it! But it ceased, and all was still.
Had it gone out? What would happen next? Perhaps the little lamps had
not to grow great lamps, but to fall one by one and go out
first?--With that, came from below a sweet scent, then another, and
another. Ah, how delicious! Perhaps they were all coming to her only
on their way out after the great lamp!--Then came the music of the
river, which she had been too absorbed in the sky to note the first
time. What was it? Alas! alas! another sweet living thing on its way
out. They were all marching slowly out in long lovely file, one after
the other, each taking its leave of her as it passed! It must be so:
here were more and more sweet sounds, following and fading! The whole
of the _Out_ was going out again; it was all going after the great
lovely lamp! She would be left the only creature in the solitary day!
Was there nobody to hang up a new lamp for the old one, and keep the
creatures from going?--She crept back to her rock very sad. She tried
to comfort herself by saying that anyhow there would be room out
there; but as she said it she shuddered at the thought of _empty_
room.
When next she succeeded in getting out, a half-moon hung in the east:
a new lamp had come, she thought, and all would be well.
It would be endless to describe the phases of feeling through which
Nycteris passed, more numerous and delicate than those of a thousand
changing moons. A fresh bliss bloomed in her soul with every varying
aspect of infinite nature. Ere long she began to suspect that the new
moon was the old moon, gone out and come in again like herself; also
that, unlike herself, it wasted and grew again; that it was indeed a
live thing, subject like herself to caverns, and keepers, and
solitudes, escaping and shining when it could. Was it a prison like
hers it was shut in? and did it grow dark when the lamp left it? Where
could be the way into it?--With that first she began to look below, as
well as above and around her; and then first noted the tops of the
trees between her and the floor. There were palms with their
red-fingered hands full of fruit; eucalyptus trees crowded with little
boxes of powder-puffs; oleanders with their half-caste roses; and
orange trees with their clouds of young silver stars, and their aged
balls of gold. Her eyes could see colours invisible to ours in the
moonlight, and all these she could distinguish well, though at first
she took them for the shapes and colours of the carpet of the great
room. She longed to get down among them, now she saw they were real
creatures, but she did not know how. She went along the whole length
of the wall to the end that crossed the river, but found no way of
going down. Above the river she stopped to gaze with awe upon the
rushing water. She knew nothing of water but from what she drank and
what she bathed in; and, as the moon shone on the dark, swift stream,
singing lustily as it flowed, she did not doubt the river was alive, a
swift rushing serpent of life, going--out?--whither? And then she
wondered if what was brought into her rooms had been killed that she
might drink it, and have her bath in it.
Once when she stepped out upon the wall, it was into the midst of a
fierce wind. The trees were all roaring. Great clouds were rushing
along the skies, and tumbling over the little lamps: the great lamp
had not come yet. All was in tumult. The wind seized her garments and
hair, and shook them as if it would tear them from her. What could she
have done to make the gentle creature so angry? Or was this another
creature altogether--of the same kind, but hugely bigger, and of a
very different temper and behaviour? But the whole place was angry! Or
was it that the creatures dwelling in it, the wind, and the trees, and
the clouds, and the river, had all quarrelled, each with all the rest?
Would the whole come to confusion and disorder? But, as she gazed
wondering and disquieted, the moon, larger than ever she had seen her,
came lifting herself above the horizon to look, broad and red, as if
she, too, were swollen with anger that she had been roused from her
rest by their noise, and compelled to hurry up to see what her
children were about, thus rioting in her absence, lest they should
rack the whole frame of things. And as she rose, the loud wind grew
quieter and scolded less fiercely, the trees grew stiller and moaned
with a lower complaint, and the clouds hunted and hurled themselves
less wildly across the sky. And as if she were pleased that her
children obeyed her very presence, the moon grew smaller as she
ascended the heavenly stair; her puffed cheeks sank, her complexion
grew clearer, and a sweet smile spread over her countenance, as
peacefully she rose and rose. But there was treason and rebellion in
her court; for, ere she reached the top of her great stairs, the
clouds had assembled, forgetting their late wars, and very still they
were as they laid their heads together and conspired. Then combining,
and lying silently in wait until she came near, they threw themselves
upon her, and swallowed her up. Down from the roof came spots of wet,
faster and faster, and they wetted the cheeks of Nycteris; and what
could they be but the tears of the moon, crying because her children
were smothering her? Nycteris wept too, and not knowing what to think,
stole back in dismay to her room.
The next time, she came out in fear and trembling. There was the moon
still! away in the west--poor, indeed, and old, and looking dreadfully
worn, as if all the wild beasts in the sky had been gnawing at
her--but there she was, alive still, and able to shine!