For, in reality, all the while, Limasson was trying to bring order
out of the extraordinary thoughts and feelings that had possessed him
during the slow forest ascent, and the task was not crowned with much
success. The Plan, made by others, had taken charge of him, he felt;
and he had thrown the reins of personal will and interest loosely upon
its steady gait. He had abandoned himself carelessly to what might
come. Knowing that he was leader of the expedition, he yet had suffered
the porter to go first, taking his own place as it was appointed to
him, behind the younger man, but before the priest. In this order, they
had plodded, as only experienced climbers plod, for hours without a
rest, until half way up a change had taken place. He had wished it,
and instantly it was effected. The priest moved past him, while his
companion dropped to the rear--the companion who forever stumbled
in his speed, whereas the older man climbed surely, confidently.
And thereafter Limasson walked more easily--as though the relative
positions of the three were of importance somehow. The steep ascent of
smothering darkness through the woods became less arduous. He was glad
to have the younger man behind him.
For the impression had strengthened as they climbed in silence that
this ascent pertained to some significant Ceremony, and the idea had
grown insistently, almost stealthily, upon him. The movements of
himself and his companions, especially the positions each occupied
relatively to the other, established some kind of intimacy that
resembled speech, suggesting even question and answer. And the entire
performance, while occupying hours by his watch, it seemed to him more
than once, had been in reality briefer than the flash of a passing
thought, so that he saw it within himself--pictorially. He thought of a
picture worked in colours upon a strip of elastic. Some one pulled the
strip, and the picture stretched. Or some one released it again, and
the picture flew back, reduced to a mere stationary speck. All happened
in a single speck of time.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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