Oh, noble martyrs! by whose blood and agony the world is become a
purer and better place for us, and those who shall come after us
--Oh glorious, innumerable host! thy poor, maimed bodies were dust
ages since, but thy souls live on in paradise, and thy memory
abides, and shall abide in the earth, forever.
Ye purblind, ye pessimists, existing with no hope of a
resurrection, bethink you of these matters; go, open the great
and awful Book, and read and behold these things for yourselves
--for what student of history is there but must be persuaded of
man's immortality--that, though this poor flesh be mangled, torn
asunder, burned to ashes, yet the soul, rising beyond the
tyrant's reach, soars triumphant above death and this sorry
world, to the refuge of "the everlasting arms;" for God is a just
God!
Now, in a while, becoming conscious that my pipe was smoked out
and cold, I reached up my hand to my tobacco-box upon the
mantelshelf. Yet I did not reach it down, for, even as my
fingers closed upon it, above the wailing of the storm, above the
hiss and patter of driven rain, there rose a long-drawn cry: "Charmian!"
So, remembering the voice I had seemed to hear calling in my
dream, I sat there with my hand stretched up to my tobacco-box,
and my face screwed round to the casement behind me, that, as I
watched, shook and rattled beneath each wind-gust, as if some
hand strove to pluck it open.
How long I remained thus, with my hand stretched up to my
tobacco-box, and my eyes upon this window, I am unable to say,
but, all at once, the door of the cottage burst open with a
crash, and immediately the quiet room was full of rioting wind
and tempest; such a wind as stopped my breath, and sent up a
swirl of smoke and sparks from the fire. And, borne upon this
wind, like some spirit of the storm, was a woman with flying
draperies and long, streaming hair, who turned, and, with knee
and shoulder, forced to the door, and so leaned there, panting.
Tall she was, and nobly shaped, for her wet gown clung,
disclosing the sinuous lines of her waist and the bold, full
curves of hip and thigh. Her dress, too, had been wrenched and
torn at the neck, and, through the shadow of her fallen hair, I
caught the ivory gleam of her shoulder, and the heave and tumult
of her bosom.
Here I reached down my tobacco-box and mechanically began to fill
my pipe, watching her the while.