| What it was, whether man or beast, I could not... 80 |
[Jan. 26th, 2010|11:51 am] |
What it was, whether man or beast, I could not tell
I did not wait to catch another glance, but flew down the steep steps to the pier and along by the fish-market to the bridge, which was the only way to reach the East CliffThe town seemed as dead, for not a soul did I seeI rejoiced that it was so, for I wanted no witness of poor Lucy's conditionThe time and distance seemed endless, and my knees trembled and my breath came laboured as I toiled up the endless steps to the abbeyI must have gone fast, and yet it seemed to me as if my feet were weighted with lead, and as though every joint in my body were rusty
When I got almost to the top I could see the seat and the white figure, for I was now close enough to distinguish it even through the spells of shadowThere was undoubtedly something, long and black, bending over the half-reclining white figureI called in fright, "Lucy! Lucy!" and something raised a head, and from where I was I could see a white face and red, gleaming eyes
Lucy did not answer, and I ran on to the entrance of the churchyardAs I entered, the church was between me and the seat, and for a minute or so I lost sight of herWhen I came in view again the cloud had passed, and the moonlight struck so brilliantly that I could see Lucy half reclining with her head lying over the back of the seatShe was quite alone, and there was not a sign of any living thing about
When I bent over her I could see that she was still asleepHer lips were parted, and she was breathing, not softly as usual with her, but in long, heavy gasps, as though striving to get her lungs full at every breathAs I came close, she put up her hand in her sleep and pulled the collar of her nightdress close around her, as though she felt the coldI flung the warm shawl over her, and drew the edges tight around her neck, for I dreaded lest she should get some deadly chill from the night air, unclad as she wasI feared to wake her all at once, so, in order to have my hands free to help her, I fastened the shawl at her throat with a big safety pinBut I must have been clumsy in my anxiety and pinched or pricked her with it, for by-and-by, when her breathing became quieter, she put her hand to her throat again and moanedWhen I had her carefully wrapped up I put my shoes on her feet, and then began very gently to wake her
At first she did not respond, but gradually she became more and more uneasy in her sleep, moaning and sighing occasionallyAt last, as time was passing fast, and for many other reasons, I wished to get her home at once, I shook her forcibly, till finally she opened her eyes and awokeShe did not seem surprised to see me, as, of course, she did not realize all at once where she was
Lucy always wakes prettily, and even at such a time, when her body must have been chilled with cold, and her mind somewhat appalled at waking unclad in a churchyard at night, she did not lose her graceShe trembled a little, and clung to meWhen I told her to come at once with me home, she rose without a word, with the obedience of a childAs we passed along, the gravel hurt my feet, and Lucy noticed me winceShe stopped and wanted to insist upon my taking my shoes, but I would notHowever, when we got to the pathway outside the chruchyard, where there was a puddle of water, remaining from the storm, I daubed my feet with mud, using each foot in turn on the other, so that as we went home, no one, in case we should meet any one, should notice my bare feet
Fortune favoured us, and we got home without meeting a soulOnce we saw a man, who seemed not quite sober, passing along a street in front of usBut we hid in a door till he had disappeared up an opening such as there are here, steep little closes, or 'wynds', as they call them in ScotlandMy heart beat so loud all the time sometimes I thought I should faintI was filled with anxiety about Lucy, not only for her health, lest she should suffer from the exposure, but for her reputation in case the story should get windWhen we got in, and had washed our feet, and had said a prayer of thankfulness together, I tucked her into bedBefore falling asleep she asked, even implored, me not to say a word to any one, even her mother, about her sleep-walking adventure
I hesitated at first, to promise, but on thinking of the state of her mother's health, and how the knowledge of such a thing would fret her, and think too, of how such a story might become distorted, nay, infallibly would, in case it should leak out, I thought it wiser to do soI have locked the door, and the key is tied to my wrist, so perhaps I shall not be again disturbedLucy is sleeping soundlyThe reflex of the dawn is high and far over the sea?
Same day, |
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