The Child of the Dawn

  VIII

  These are only some of the many talks I had with Amroth. They rangedover a great many subjects and thoughts. What I cannot indicate,however, is the lightness and freshness of them; and above all, theirentire frankness and amusingness. There were times when we talked liketwo children, revived old simple adventures of life--he had lived farmore largely and fully than I had done--and I never tired of hearing thetales of his old lives, so much more varied and wonderful than my own.Sometimes we merely told each other stories out of our imaginations andhearts. We even played games, which I cannot describe, but they werelike the games of earth. We seemed at times to walk and wander together;but I had a sense all this time that I was, so to speak, in hospital,being tended and cared for, and not allowed to do anything wearisome ordemanding effort. But I became more and more aware of other spiritsabout me, like birds that chirp and twitter in the ivy of a tower, or inthe thick bushes of a shrubbery. Amroth told me one day that I mustprepare for a great change soon, and I found myself wondering what itwould be like, half excited about it, and half afraid, unwilling as Iwas to lose the sweet rest, and the dear companionship of a friend whoseemed like the crown and sum of all hopes of friendship. Amroth becameutterly dear to me, and it was a joy beyond all joys to feel his happyand smiling nature bent upon me, hour by hour, in sympathy andunderstanding and love. He said to me laughingly once that I had much ofearth about me yet, and that I must soon learn not to bend my thoughtsso exclusively one way and on one friend.

  "Yes," I said, "I am not fit for heaven yet! I believe I am jealous; Icannot bear to think that you will leave me, or that any other souldeserves your attention."

  "Oh," he said lightly, "this is my business and delight now--but youwill soon have to do for others what I am doing for you. You like thiseasy life at present, but you can hardly imagine how interesting it isto have some one given you for your own, as you were given to me. It isthe delight of motherhood and fatherhood in one; and when I was allowedto take you away out of the room where you lay--I admit it was not apleasant scene--I felt just like a child who is given a kitten for itsvery own."

  "Well," I said, "I have been a very satisfactory pet--I have done littleelse but purr." I felt his eyes upon me in a wonderful nearness of love;and then I looked up and I saw that we were not alone.

  It was then that I first perceived that there could be grief in heaven.I say "first perceived," but I had known it all along. But by Amroth'sgentle power that had been for a time kept away from me, that I mightrest and rejoice.

  The form before me was that of a very young and beautiful woman--sobeautiful that for a moment all my thought seemed to be concentratedupon her. But I saw, too, that all was not well with her. She was not atpeace with herself, or her surroundings. In her great wide eyes therewas a look of pain, and of rebellious pain. She was attired in a robethat was a blaze of colour; and when I wondered at this, for it wasunlike the clear hues, pearly grey and gold, and soft roseate light thathad hitherto encompassed me, the voice of Amroth answered my unutteredquestion, and said, "It is the image of her thought." Her slim whitehands moved aimlessly over the robe, and seemed to finger the jewelswhich adorned it. Her lips were parted, and anything more beautiful thanthe pure curves of her chin and neck I had seldom seen, though sheseemed never to be still, as Amroth was still, but to move restlesslyand wearily about. I knew by a sort of intuition that she was unawareof Amroth and only aware of myself. She seemed startled and surprised atthe sight of me, and I wondered in what form I appeared to her; in amoment she spoke, and her voice was low and thrilling.

  "I am so glad," she said in a half-courteous, half-distracted way, "tofind some one in the place to whom I can speak. I seem to be alwaysmoving in a crowd, and yet to see no one--they are afraid of me, Ithink; and it is not what I expected, not what I am used to. I am inneed of help, I feel, and yet I do not know what sort of help it is thatI want. May I stay with you a little?"

  "Why, yes," I said; "there is no question of 'may' here."

  She came up to me with a sort of proud confidence, and looked at mefixedly. "Yes," she said, "I see that I can trust you; and I am tired ofbeing deceived!" Then she added with a sort of pettishness, "I havenowhere to go, nothing to do--it is all dull and cold. On earth it wasjust the opposite. I had only too much attention and love.... Oh, yes,"she added with a strange glance, "it was what you would probably callsinful. The only man I ever loved did not care for me, and I was lovedby many for whom I did not care. Well, I had my pleasures, and I supposeI must pay for them. I do not complain of that. But I am determined notto give way: it is unjust and cruel. I never had a chance. I was alwaysbrought up to be admired from the first. We were rich at my home, and insociety--you understand? I made what was called a good match, and Inever cared for my husband, but amused myself with other people; and itwas splendid while it lasted: then all kinds of horrible thingshappened--scenes, explanations, a lawsuit--it makes me shudder toremember it all; and then I was ill, I suppose, and suddenly it was allover, and I was alone, with a feeling that I must try to take up withall kinds of tiresome things--all the things that bored me most. But nowit may be going to be better; you can tell me where I can find people,perhaps? I am not quite unpresentable, even here? No, I can see that inyour face. Well, take me somewhere, show me something, find somethingfor me to do in this deadly place. I seem to have got into a perpetualsunset, and I am so sick of it all."

  I felt very helpless before this beautiful creature who seemed sotroubled and discontented. "No," said the voice of Amroth beside me, "itis of no use to talk; let her talk to you; let her make friends with youif she can."

  "That's better," she said, looking at me. "I was afraid you were goingto be grave and serious. I felt for a minute as if I was going to beconfirmed."

  "No," I said, "you need not be disturbed; nothing will be done to youagainst your wish. One has but to wish here, or to be willing, and theright thing happens."

  She came close to me as I said this, and said, "Well, I think I shalllike you, if only you can promise not to be serious." Then she turned,and stood for a moment disconsolate, looking away from me.

  All this while the atmosphere around me had been becoming lighter andclearer, as though a mist were rising. Suddenly Amroth said, "You willhave to go with her for a time, and do what you can. I must leave youfor a little, but I shall not be far off; and if you need me, I shall beat hand. But do not call for me unless you are quite sure you need me."He gave me a hand-clasp and a smile, and was gone.

  Then, looking about me, I saw at last that I was in a place. Lonely andbare though it was, it seemed to me very beautiful. It was like a grassyupland, with rocky heights to left and right. They were most delicate inoutline, those crags, like the crags in an old picture, with sharp,smooth curves, like a fractured crystal. They seemed to be of a creamystone, and the shadows fell blue and distinct. Down below was a greatplain full of trees and waters, all very dim. A path, worn lightly inthe grass, lay at my feet, and I knew that we must descend it. The girlwith me--I will call her Cynthia--was gazing at it with delight. "Ah,"she said, "I can see clearly now. This is something like a real place,instead of mist and light. We can find people down here, no doubt; itlooks inhabited out there." She pointed with her hand, and it seemed tome that I could see spires and towers and roofs, of a fine and airyarchitecture, at the end of a long horn of water which lay very blueamong the woods of the plain. It puzzled me, because I had the sensethat it was all unreal, and, indeed, I soon perceived that it was thegirl's own thought that in some way affected mine. "Quick, let us go,"she said; "what are we waiting for?"

  The descent was easy and gradual. We came down, following the path, overthe hill-shoulders. A stream of clear water dripped among stones; itall brought back to me with an intense delight the recollection of longdays spent among such hills in holiday times on earth, but all withoutregret; I only wished that an old and dear friend of mine, with whom Ihad often gone, might be with me. He had quitted life before me, and Iknew s
omehow or hoped that I should before long see him; but I did notwish things to be otherwise; and, indeed, I had a strange interest inthe fretful, silly, lovely girl with me, and in what lay before us. Sheprattled on, and seemed to be recovering her spirits and her confidenceat the sights around us. If I could but find anything that would drawher out of her restless mood into the peace of the morning! She had acharm for me, though her impatience and desire for amusement seemeduninteresting enough; and I found myself talking to her as an elderbrother might, with terms of familiar endearment, which she seemed to begrateful for. It was strange in a way, and yet it all appeared natural.The more we drew away from the hills, the happier she became. "Ah," shesaid once, "we have got out of that hateful place, and now perhaps wemay be more comfortable,"--and when we came down beside the stream to agrove of trees, and saw something which seemed like a road beneath us,she was delighted. "That's more like it," she said, "and now we may findsome real people perhaps,"--she turned to me with a smile--"though youare real enough too, and very kind to me; but I still have an idea thatyou are a clergyman, and are only waiting your time to draw a moral."