The Dreamer Of Dreams Part 13

He staggered to his feet; the child hung a dead weight round his neck, she was quite unable to make further effort. What should he do? He could not leave her to perish here, this dear companion of the mountain tops!

Yet thus enc.u.mbered, how could he reach the final height? His strength was spent, his feet were bleeding, his clothes were torn, the wounds of the night before were a throbbing agony beneath the clinging arms of the little girl.

He felt that they were breaking open anew, that his warm blood was slowly trickling down on to the snow, and with each drop that fell his life seemed to be oozing slowly away. And there far above, like the tantalizing vision out of an ethereal world, rose the peak of his desire.

Again the rays of the sun reddened its crown like a glowing flower. Was it mocking him in his mortal distress? Was it luring him on to life or to death? But he must mount, always farther; he could not give up now within sight of his goal! Courage! Courage! He must conquer and win! But what were those white arms beckoning to him out of the morning mist?

What were those veils of transparent vapour waving to him from the rock above? Were they apparitions out of some fantastic dream, some hallucination of his tired brain?

Anyhow he would desperately follow them, perhaps they would help him in his distress; but the higher he climbed the farther did the beckoning figures always recede; each time he had thought to reach the height where they stood he saw them far away hovering above him on some steep boulder, which again he scaled only to be baffled anew.

It was an awful pursuit, the heavy child clinging around his neck, his open wounds dripping, leaving red traces wherever he pa.s.sed.

His shoes had been cut almost to shreds by the rugged rocks, so that his feet suffered an agony of pain.

A blind rage seized him against these spirits of the wilds who mocked his cruel plight; and yet, had he but known it, it was just their alluring aloofness that was helping him upon his final climb. His overwhelming longing to reach those ethereal beings with whom he hoped to find rest gave him the energy to clamber always farther, the intensity of his desire infusing almost superhuman force into his attenuated body.

Suddenly he stopped with a gasp, almost letting the child fall from his arms;--other visions were now before him floating amongst the clouds.

The indistinct apparitions had taken form, changing into white-winged angels all flying upwards, their long trailing garments mingling with the mist.

Ah! these would lead him to his last height! These celestial beings had been sent from heaven to help him in his bitterest need.

Looking down at the child in his arms, he saw that her face was deadly pale, her eyes were shut, the long lashes cast deep shadows on her sunken cheeks.

Indeed it was time to reach some shelter where he could lay her down.

Then raising his head a cry escaped his lips ... there close before him he espied the great peak which had always appeared so absolutely beyond his reach.

There it stood, enormous and majestic, an overpowering revelation rising out of the filmy clouds--clouds that were one ma.s.s of white-robed angels, their wings bearing them upwards, their arms extended in gestures of welcome towards this pilgrim of the heights!

Eric ran forward, all his remaining energy gathered together in one last supreme effort. The blood sang in his ears, his breath came in tormented gasps, his heart beat like a giant hammer, and wherever he pa.s.sed the hard stones bore marks of his dripping wounds.

With one arm he pressed his heavy burden against him, with the other he hoisted himself higher and higher, clambering with dogged persistence, ignoring both pain and danger, always onwards, his enraptured eyes fixed in an ecstasy of hope on the heavenly host that was showing him the way ... and now ... and now ... he was lying face downwards on the hard snow-covered rock, his arms outstretched over the motionless body of the little girl.

He had reached the top, he had not failed!... he had really won!

Long he lay in completest exhaustion unable to move, almost unable to think, or even to feel. Around him the mists rose and fell like a restless foam-covered sea!

Slowly he lifted his head, and what first met his gaze was the face of the child.

With a startled exclamation he took it in both his hands; but it rested there limp and inert with tightly shut eyes. Convulsed with fear he bent towards it, pressing his lips upon the silent mouth, covering the waxen face with eager caresses, chafing the frozen hands, the tiny bare feet, calling to it words of love and endearment, begging it to look up and speak.

But all in vain; no responsive smile came to the blanched lips, and when he let her slip from his arms the wee body fell back, a poor little heap, upon the ground.

Then Eric covered his face with his hands and sobbed as if his heart would break.

Thus did he remain completely overcome, in frightful distress. Oh, why--oh, why had he been unable to save her treasured life? Why, why was he alive while she was dead? Why had all his efforts been in vain? Why had he reached his goal only to be crushed by this bitter grief? O G.o.d!

O G.o.d! What was the use of such a thing?

But what was that? Over his head the sound of wings.... He let his hands fall from his tear-stained face, and looking up into the blue, blue sky above, overcome with wonder he discerned two shining angels who held within their arms the form of the poor little maid....

They mounted always farther into s.p.a.ce, and as they did so he saw the humble companion of his wanderings all bright and transfigured, like unto the angels themselves.

Before they disappeared into that vast splendour of blue, she bent toward him a face full of love and grat.i.tude, bearing an expression of heavenly peace which descended upon his soul, revealing unto him that henceforward he need grieve for her no more.

XVIII

But the joy that is one with sorrow Treads an immortal way.

FIONA MACLEOD.

Eric remained for a long while, his face turned to the sky, his eyes fixed upon the spot where the bright vision had melted into the infinite.

Indeed it had been a consoling sight to see the lowly little waif changed into a shining light, her tattered rags turned into a robe as immaculate as those of the ethereal beings who had borne her away into the sky.

G.o.d had been merciful; it was better thus; all her fatigue and weariness were at an end, all the scars and wounds had been wiped from her starving body, and when she had looked down upon him it had been with a light of ineffable happiness within her eyes.

But now Eric felt how completely exhausted he was; so throwing himself upon the naked rock, he lay face downwards like one who is dead.

It was many hours before he had strength to raise his head; and when he did so, the glare of noon beat down upon him with life-giving force.

He rose to his feet looking about him, then stood in rapture before what he saw.

The peak upon which he had climbed was far above everything else, overlooking the entire universe; a frowning solitary ma.s.s. On three sides of him were mountains and steep, precipitous pa.s.ses, dark and forbidding, a whole world of mystery and desolation, where human foot would not dare to penetrate; sombre secrets seemed hidden in every crevice.

Over all brooded an implacable silence; light and shade played on the face of the mountains in startling contrast, almost white in places, in others deep indigo; and far away on the horizon the vast immensities dwindled into a mist of blue, like smoke rising out of some giant's caldron.

But at his feet lay what might have been a vision of the promised land, a wondrous revelation of light and beauty--as far as the eye could reach, a blooming plain all shimmering in the radiant sun, out of which a glorious expectation seemed to rise and remain suspended, awaiting some great moment of fulfilment. A heavy ripeness saturated with the glow of harvest was spread over the earth; long roads like silver ribbons wound through this vast richness, and they were like never-ending illusions, leading always farther into a blessed region of dreams.

Broad rivers shone like molten metal as they slowly flowed between fruitful banks, in places bordered by thick forests that stood out in delicate ma.s.ses against all that treasure of sunshine. A happy country indeed, if only it did not melt away when the foot reached its border.

Something near by now attracted his attention. Beneath where he stood there was a flitting to and fro, a movement in the air, something impalpable and that yet called him back to his more immediate surroundings.

Not very far below he perceived a small dark lake like an enormous eye, sombre and watchful, encased between granite boulders. Around this deep bottomless pool stood all his ghostly followers, watching with absorbed interest the water at their feet.

There was something mysterious and unusual about that green-black surface.

It was dead still; and then, quite unexpectedly, anxious convulsions would shake its depth, and out of its quiet face bubbles would suddenly rise, spreading over the whole till the entire water was covered with enormous dewdrops, and each single drop reflected within its circle the blue of the sky.

Then in places the transparent globes would detach themselves and rise into the air like giant soap-bubbles, floating away into s.p.a.ce till they disappeared from sight; and all these bubbles were of such exquisite beauty, and so varied in hue, that Eric imagined he saw colours within them that his eye had never before looked upon.

What was the meaning of it all? What were his silent pursuers doing around that bewitched mountain lake? What were they awaiting? Why did a feeling of silent expectancy rise to where he stood?

Very carefully Eric climbed down towards that curious gathering.

Noiselessly he approached, afraid of frightening them away.