American literature -- Periodicals; Literature -- Periodicals
"Three hours later I woke up. There was not a breath of wind outside.
It was so silent that my ears found employment in listening for the
throbbing of the blood within them. There was not even a flicker of
light from the fireplace. As I lay there, an ash tinkled slightly
as it cooled, but there was hardly a gleam of the dullest red in the
grate. An owl cried among the silent Spanish chestnuts on the slope
outside. I idly reviewed the events of the day, hoping that I should
fall off to sleep again before I reached dinner. But at the end I
seemed as wakeful as ever. There was no help for it. I must read my
_Jungle Book_ again till I felt ready to go off, so I fumbled for
the pear at the end of the cord that hung down inside the bed, and I
switched on the bedside lamp. The sudden glory dazzled me for a moment.
I felt under my pillow for my book with half-shut eyes. Then, growing
used to the light, I happened to look down to the foot of my bed.
* * * * *
"I can never tell you really what happened then. Nothing I could ever
confess in the most abject words could even faintly picture to you
what I felt. I know that my heart stopped dead, and my throat shut
automatically. In one instinctive movement I crouched back up against
the head-boards of the bed, staring at the horror. The movement set my
heart going again, and the sweat dripped from every pore. I am not a
particularly religious man, but I had always believed that God would
never allow any supernatural appearance to present itself to man in
such a guise and in such circumstances that harm, either bodily or
mental, could result to him. I can only tell you that at that moment
both my life and my reason rocked unsteadily on their seats."
The other _Osiris_ passengers had gone to bed. Only he and I remained
leaning over the starboard railing, which rattled uneasily now and then
under the fierce vibration of the over-engined mail-boat. Far over,
there were the lights of a few fishing-smacks riding out the night, and
a great rush of white combing and seething water fell out and away from
us overside.
At last Colvin went on:
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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