letters spaced at wide intervals round the edge of its surface – four letters only, spelling the word ‘rota’; and though I could hardly explain in words what they conveyed to me, I felt a sensation of ineffable relief. I knew that this simple word held release, both for my sisters and for myself.
The final tableau now presented itself to me; it was the same empty moorland scene as the first, but lacking the mere, and now bathed in the most triumphant sunset glow. The sinking sun was not to be seen, for a gigantic throne rose into the west, superimposing its metallic weight on a good quarter of the sky. The same voice I had heard before, but richer in timbre, extolled ‘The Golden Eve’.
I had come to the end of the far-stretching corridor, and, still carrying the board, I opened a door and found myself in the garden. I set the disc bowling like a hoop in the direction of Troubh, and with a sensation of exultant reliance on fate taken at the spin, I let it go. I watched it swiftly gaining momentum down a gentle incline, and knew it would reach its destination. After that, my sisters and half-brother must read its message as I had done, and find in it their freedom.
When I returned to my own apartments, I came upon a rill of pellucid water, not more than ten inches wide, sliding with scarcely a sound over the moss-green carpet of my bed-room. It bubbled up from beneath the wainscot by the window, and flowed diagonally across the floor to disappear under the doorway. I could not find a trace of it in the passage outside, where I suppose it lost itself in the shadows. Making for itself a bed in the pile of the carpet, it seemed no deeper than this, which it filled level with an invisible brink. A few delicatestemmed flowers like columbines, fritillaries or autumn crocus appeared growing from the carpet near the water, but they looked so fragile that I did not try to pluck them.
I was surprised though not alarmed by this phenomenon, which lasted upwards of half-an-hour and then vanished, leaving the carpet quite dry. I could not explain it, but felt it as a symptom of consolation.
‘Yo soy la mata inflamada,
Ardiendo sin ser quemada
Ni con aquel fuego tocada
Que a los otros tocara.’
– Spanish Song.
It was not only consolation which was brought me by the mysterious rill, but something stronger – a deep conviction that I must get away. I kept to my room all day, the resolve growing in density and form. Finally, at a late hour, I opened my door and peeped into the passage. All was still, and lightless except for the glass of an uncurtained window at the end of the landing.
I halted outside the door of my Uncle’s study; there was no sign of an occupant, but I felt certain that he was there within, waiting. As I have said, I habitually wore jewellery – several heavy bracelets and rings, a triple chain forming a collar, a watch, a big brooch, ear-rings. These I began to tear off; I flung them all down on my Uncle’s threshold, their metallic crash and tinkle echoing through the entranced house. One of the rings rolled away under his door. Then I fled down the passage; and as I turned at the head of the stairway, I caught a last glimpse over my shoulder of the faintly-glimmering heap. The stones gathered within themselves all the light there was in the corridor, and sent it forth again in a muted and reptilian ray.
When I arrived at the massive castellated gatehouse once more, I became aware of the Anchorite’s vigilant figure half-hidden at an upper window, but I knew that nothing now could hold me back. I darted towards the square of the archway, but to pass through this, I found that I had to enter the cage of glazed compartments which make up a swing-door; though this was no ordinary swing-door. It contained more than the usual four compartments; and then it was used as a kind of roulette – my sisters were placed one in each section, and all had to run round inside so long as the pivot went on
The final tableau now presented itself to me; it was the same empty moorland scene as the first, but lacking the mere, and now bathed in the most triumphant sunset glow. The sinking sun was not to be seen, for a gigantic throne rose into the west, superimposing its metallic weight on a good quarter of the sky. The same voice I had heard before, but richer in timbre, extolled ‘The Golden Eve’.
I had come to the end of the far-stretching corridor, and, still carrying the board, I opened a door and found myself in the garden. I set the disc bowling like a hoop in the direction of Troubh, and with a sensation of exultant reliance on fate taken at the spin, I let it go. I watched it swiftly gaining momentum down a gentle incline, and knew it would reach its destination. After that, my sisters and half-brother must read its message as I had done, and find in it their freedom.
When I returned to my own apartments, I came upon a rill of pellucid water, not more than ten inches wide, sliding with scarcely a sound over the moss-green carpet of my bed-room. It bubbled up from beneath the wainscot by the window, and flowed diagonally across the floor to disappear under the doorway. I could not find a trace of it in the passage outside, where I suppose it lost itself in the shadows. Making for itself a bed in the pile of the carpet, it seemed no deeper than this, which it filled level with an invisible brink. A few delicatestemmed flowers like columbines, fritillaries or autumn crocus appeared growing from the carpet near the water, but they looked so fragile that I did not try to pluck them.
I was surprised though not alarmed by this phenomenon, which lasted upwards of half-an-hour and then vanished, leaving the carpet quite dry. I could not explain it, but felt it as a symptom of consolation.
‘Yo soy la mata inflamada,
Ardiendo sin ser quemada
Ni con aquel fuego tocada
Que a los otros tocara.’
– Spanish Song.
It was not only consolation which was brought me by the mysterious rill, but something stronger – a deep conviction that I must get away. I kept to my room all day, the resolve growing in density and form. Finally, at a late hour, I opened my door and peeped into the passage. All was still, and lightless except for the glass of an uncurtained window at the end of the landing.
I halted outside the door of my Uncle’s study; there was no sign of an occupant, but I felt certain that he was there within, waiting. As I have said, I habitually wore jewellery – several heavy bracelets and rings, a triple chain forming a collar, a watch, a big brooch, ear-rings. These I began to tear off; I flung them all down on my Uncle’s threshold, their metallic crash and tinkle echoing through the entranced house. One of the rings rolled away under his door. Then I fled down the passage; and as I turned at the head of the stairway, I caught a last glimpse over my shoulder of the faintly-glimmering heap. The stones gathered within themselves all the light there was in the corridor, and sent it forth again in a muted and reptilian ray.
When I arrived at the massive castellated gatehouse once more, I became aware of the Anchorite’s vigilant figure half-hidden at an upper window, but I knew that nothing now could hold me back. I darted towards the square of the archway, but to pass through this, I found that I had to enter the cage of glazed compartments which make up a swing-door; though this was no ordinary swing-door. It contained more than the usual four compartments; and then it was used as a kind of roulette – my sisters were placed one in each section, and all had to run round inside so long as the pivot went on
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