Ellice Quentin, and other storiesHawthorne, Julian
General
Ellice Quentin, and other stories
Hawthorne, Julian
American fiction -- 19th century; Short stories, American
It is needless to say that I did not go back to the dining-room in
search of my uncle. What with the turmoil of one emotion and another,
I had never felt myself less capable of coherent and rational
conversation. My whole body was thrilling with excitement; my brain was
confused and dizzy. Once or twice I narrowly escaped missing my footing
on the narrow winding stair. Having gained my room, I dropped into the
chair by the window, thoroughly exhausted. The moon, I remember, though
now high in the zenith, was visible from where I sat, and her rays
fell upon my upturned face as I lay back, breathing heavily. Before
many minutes had passed, I must have fallen asleep. How long my sleep
lasted I do not know; but it was long enough for me to have a very
vivid and painful dream.
It seemed to me that a tall dark figure, whose face was concealed by
a veil, stood beside me and put his hand over my eyes. A dull reddish
light was before me: I felt impelled to arise and move towards it. The
path by which I went was narrow and uneven; it ran along the summit of
a ridge which divided an apparently bottomless valley. Lurid vapours,
green and yellow, rolled about far below me, or crept sluggishly up the
precipitous sides of the ridge. Suddenly the red light which I followed
disappeared; I was upon a rock in the midst of a black, waveless ocean.
Far away towards the north a small boat flew horizonwards without
sails or oars. In the boat sat the tall dark figure, and by his side
was Diana. A feeling of anguish and bitter jealousy burned within me:
the woman I loved was being taken away from me by a malignant creature
who was neither man nor angel. Further sped the boat: yet I saw Diana
turn towards me and wave her hand, as if calling me to save her. I
sprang into the black water and swam after her with desperate strokes,
but the current swept strong against me, and I made no headway. There
was no wind, yet the waves now broke in foam around me, and the foam
changed to white serpents, coiling in hissing knots. Then I knew that
it was no longer a sea in which I struggled, but the infinite void of
space. I moved with the constellations, in an appointed orbit, and in
that orbit I must move for ever. The boat had spread a pale luminous
sail that gleamed against the darkness: it swept on a course concentric
with my own, but a myriad leagues away. Never should that fatal gulf
be crossed, or its breadth diminished. Rounder grew the sail; it shone
like burnished metal; against the disc I saw the shadowy form of the
robber, and Diana in his arms. Through all eternity must I behold her
thus, without the power to help or comfort her. Suddenly I passed into
a great shadow, like the shadow of utter blindness. I heard a soothing
melody, as of fairy choristers. A soft hand clasped mine. My dream was
over. I was awake!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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