Белые люди
Chapter IX
Partoftheparkitselfhadoncebeenmoorland,andwasdarkwithslenderfirsandthickgrownwithheatherandbroom.Onthemoorthemistgrewthicker,andifIhadnotsowellknownthepathwemighthavelostourselvesinit.AlsoIknewbyheartcertainlittlestreamsthatrushedandmadeguidingsoundswhichweresometimesloudwhispersandsometimessingingbabbles.Thedamp,sweetscentoffernandheatherwasinournostrils;asweclimbedwebreatheditsfreshness.
“Thereisasortofunearthlylovelinessinitall,”HectorMacNairnsaidtome.Hisvoicewasratherlikehismother’s.Italwaysseemedtosaysomuchmorethanhiswords.
“Wemightbeghosts,”Ianswered.“Wemightbesomeofthosethemisthidesbecausetheyliketobehidden.”
“Youwouldnotbeafraidifyoumetoneofthem?”hesaid.
“No.IthinkIamsureofthat.Ishouldfeelthatitwasonlylikemyself,and,ifIcouldhear,mighttellmethingsIwanttoknow.”
“Whatdoyouwanttoknow?”heaskedme,verylow.“You!”
“Onlywhateverybodywantstoknow—thatitisreallyAWAKENINGfree,readyforwonderfulnewthings,findingoneselfinthemidstofwonders.Idon’tmeanangelswithharpsandcrowns,butbeautysuchasweseenow;onlyseeingitwithoutburdensoffearsbeforeandbehindus.Andknowingthereisnoreasontobeafraid.Wehaveallbeensoafraid.Wedon’tknowhowafraidwehavebeen—ofeverything.”
Istoppedamongtheheatherandthrewmyarmsoutwide.Idrewinagreat,joyousmorningbreath.
“Freelikethat!Itisthefreeness,thelight,splendidfreeness,Ithinkofmost.
