Хоббит
Not at Home
Sotheysatnearthedoorandwatched.
Theysawthelittledarkshapeofthehobbitstartacrossthefloorholdinghistinylightaloft.Everynowandagain,whilehewasstillnearenough,theycaughtaglintandatinkleashestumbledonsomegoldenthing.Thelightgrewsmallerashewanderedawayintothevasthall;thenitbegantorisedancingintotheair.Bilbowasclimbingthegreatmoundoftreasure.Soonhestooduponthetop,andstillwenton.Thentheysawhimhaltandstoopforamoment;buttheydidnotknowthereason.ItwastheArkenstone,theHeartoftheMountain.SoBilboguessedfromThorin’sdescription;butindeedtherecouldnotbetwosuchgems,eveninsomarvellousahoard,eveninalltheworld.Everasheclimbed,thesamewhitegleamhadshonebeforehimanddrawnhisfeettowardsSlowlyitgrewtoalittleglobeofpallidlight.Nowascamenear,itwastingedwithaflickeringsparkleofmancoloursatthesurface,reflectedandsplinteredfromthewaveringlightofhistorch.Atlasthelookeddownuponitandhecaughthisbreath.Thegreatjewelshonebeforehefeetofitsowninnerlight,andyet,cutandfashionedbythedwarves,whohaddugitfromtheheartofthemountainlongago,ittookalllightthatfelluponitand-changesitintotenthousandsparksofwhiteradianceshotwithglintsoftherainbow.
SuddenlyBilbo’sarmwenttowardsitdrawnbyitenchantment.Hissmallhandwouldnotcloseaboutitforitwasalargeandheavygem;butheliftedit,shuthiseyes,andputitinhisdeepestpocket.
