The phial slipped from his fingers to the floor. He sank upon the side of
the bed, and, placing his hands on his knees, he whispered a few broken
words that none on earth was meant to hear. Then he passed into a strange
and moveless quiet of mind and body. Many a time in days gone by--far-off
days--had he sat as he was doing now, feeling his mind pass into a soft,
comforting quiet, absorbed in a sensation of existence, as it were
between waking and sleeping, where doors opened to new experience and
understanding, where the mind seemed to loose itself from the bonds of
human necessity and find a freer air.
Now, as he sat as still as the stone in the walls around him, he was
conscious of a vision forming itself before his eyes. At first it was
indefinite, vague, without clear form, but at last it became a room dimly
outlined, delicately veiled, as it were. Then it seemed, not that the
mist cleared, but that his eyes became stronger, and saw through the
delicate haze; and now the room became wholly, concretely visible.
It was the room in which he had said good-bye to Hylda.
Pages:
577
578
579
580
581
582
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601