Henry Brocken by Walter J. de la Mare


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Page 44

The doctor strode to the door, and peered out like a man suspicious or
guilty of treachery. It was indeed a house of broken silences. And
there, in the doorway, he seemed to be addressing his own saddened
conscience.

"With all my skill, and all a leal man's gentleness, I solaced and
persuaded, and made an oath, and conducted her back to her own chamber
unperceived. How weak is sleep!... It was a habit, sir, contracted in
childhood, long dormant, that Evil had woke again. The Past awaits us
all. So run Time's sands, till mercy's globe is empty and ..."

He stooped and whispered it across to me: "... A child, a comparative
child, shrunk to an anatomy, her beauty changed, ghostly of youth and
all its sadness, baffled by a word, slave to a doctor's nod! None
knew but I, and, at the last, one of her ladies--a gentle, faithful,
and fearful creature. Nor she till far beyond all mischief....

"Wild deeds are done. But to have blood on the hands, a cry in the
ears, and one same glassy face eye to eye, that nothing can dim, nor
even slumber pacify--dreams, dreams, intangible, enorm! Forefend them,
God, from me!"

He stood a moment as if he were listening; then turned, smiling
irresolutely, and eyed me aimlessly. He seemed afraid of his own
house, askance at his own furniture. Yet, though I scarce know why, I
felt he had not told me the whole truth. Something fidelity had yet
withheld from vanity. I longed to enquire further. I put aside how
many burning questions awhile!




XIV

_And if we gang to sea, master,
I fear we'll come to harm._

--OLD BALLAD.


By and by less anxious talk soothed him. Indeed it was he who
suggested one last bright draught of air beneath his trees before
retiring. Down we went again with some unnecessary clatter. And here
were stars between the fruited boughs, silvery Capella and the Twins,
and low on the sky's moonlit border Venus excellently bright.

He asked me whither I proposed going, if I needs must go; besought
there and then in the ambrosial night-air the history of my
wanderings--a mere nine days' wonder; and told me how he himself much
feared and hated the sea.

He questioned me also with not a little subtilty (and double-dealing
too, I fancied,) regarding my own country, and of things present, and
things real. In fact nothing, I think, so much flattered his
vanity--unless it was my wonder at Dame Partlett's clucking on his
viol-strings--as to learn himself was famous even so far as to ages
yet unborn. He gazed on the simple moon with limpid, amiable eyes, and
caught my fingers in his.

How, then, could I even so much as hint to enquire which century
indeed was his, who had no need of any? How could I abash that kindly
vanity of his by adding also that, however famous, he must needs be to
all eternity--nameless?

We conversed long and earnestly in the coolness. He very frankly
counselled me not to venture unconducted further into this country.
The land of Tragedy was broad. And though on this side it lay adjacent
to the na�ve and civil people of Comedy; on the further, in the shadow
of those bleak, unfooted mountains, lurked unnatural horror and
desolation, and cruelty beyond all telling.

He very kindly offered me too, if I was indeed bent on seeking the
sea, an old boat, still seaworthy, that lay in a creek in the river
near by, from which he was wont to fish. As for Rosinante, he supposed
a rest would be by no means unwelcome to so faithful a friend. He
himself rode little, being indolent, and a happier host than guest;
and when I returned here, she should be stuffed with dainties awaiting
me.

To this I cordially and gratefully agreed; and also even more
cordially to remain with him the next day; and the next night after
that to take my watery departure.

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Books | Photos | Paul Mutton | Mon 22nd Dec 2025, 13:54