Some one was calling to me, a long way off.
Some one was leaning down from a great height to call to me in
the depths; and the voice was wonderfully sweet, but faint,
faint, because the height was so very high, and the depths so
very great.
And still the voice called and called, and I felt sorry that I
could not answer, because, as I say, the voice was troubled, and
wonderfully sweet.
And, little by little, it seemed that it grew nearer, this voice;
was it descending to me in these depths of blackness, or was I
being lifted up to the heights where, I knew, blackness could not
be? Ay, indeed, I was being lifted, for I could feel a hand upon
my brow--a smooth, cool hand that touched my cheek, and brushed
the hair from my forehead; a strong, gentle hand it was, with
soft fingers, and it was lifting me up and up from the loathly
depths which seemed more black and more horrible the farther I
drew from them.
And so I heard the voice nearer, and ever nearer, until I could
distinguish words, and the voice had tears in it, and the words
were very tender.
"Peter--speak!--speak to me, Peter!"
"Charmian?" said I, within myself; "why, truly, whose hand but
hers could have lifted me out of that gulf of death, back to
light and life?" Yet I did not speak aloud, for I had no mind
to, yet a while.
"Ah! speak to me--speak to me, Peter! How can you lie there so
still and pale?"
And now her arms were about me, strong and protecting, and my
head was drawn down upon her bosom.
"Oh, Peter!--my Peter!"
Nay, but was this Charmian, the cold, proud Charmian? Truly I
had never heard that thrill in her voice before--could this indeed
be Charmian? And lying thus, with my head on this sweet pillow,
I could hear her heart whispering to me, and it seemed that it
was striving to tell me something--striving, striving to tell me
something, could I but understand--ah! could I but understand!
"I waited for you so long--so long, Peter--and the supper is all
spoiled--a rabbit, Peter--you liked rabbit, and--and oh, God! I
want you--don't you hear me, Peter--I want you--want you!" and
now her cheek was pressed to mine, and her lips were upon my hair,
and upon my brow--her lips! Was this indeed Charmian, and was I
Peter Vibart? Ah, if I could but know what it was her heart was
trying to tell me, so quickly and passionately!