darkness, like the trail of a huge comet, whose fiery body might almost rend the air with a terrific crash. Wherever it passes, the blackness of the night is riven, and a sign-post, a clump of trees appear; then darkness closes in again, and only when the apparition has almost disappeared, and nothing can be seen of it save a little green flame, does the child comprehend that it was a night express. What o'clock is it? Where is he? How long has he been sleeping? He does not know, but his sleep has hurt him. He awakes quite numb and stiff in every limb. He dreamt of Mâdou. Oh! that terrible moment when the dream banished upon awaking, recurs to the mind, and seems so poignantly real! The dampness of the ground had chilled him through and through, and Jack dreamt that he was lying yonder in the cemetery, at the side of the little King. He shivers just at the remembrance of that terrible cold, so heavy and suffocating. He still seems to see Mâdou's face, and feels that little icy body touch his own. To escape from the thought that haunts. him, he gets up, but on that road which the nightwind has dried and hardened, his footsteps sound so loud that he believes he hears other footsteps following. Mâdou is there, behind him. And he starts off again at a mad pace. On, on, through the darkness and stillness. He traverses a village wrapped in slumber, passes beneath a square belfry tower that hurls upon his head its big, clanging heavy notes. Two o'clock! Another village is passed. The clock strikes three. On and on! His head whirls, and his feet burn. But still he goes on. If he should pause, he fears lest that phantom of his dream should seize him, that terrible phantom which is put to flight when he walks. From time to time he meets wagons covered with big awnings; they seem to be in a state of somnambulism; even the driver and the horses have fallen asleep. The weary child inquires: "Am I far from Étiolles?" A grunt is the only answer. But soon another traveller will be journeying upon the same road as he. A traveller whose setting-out is proclaimed by chanticleer, and the light murmur of frogs at the river-brink. It is Day itself, hiding in a curtain of clouds, uncertain as yet which path to take. But the child feels its approach, and with all nature eagerly awaits the promise of a new day. And suddenly just ahead of him in the direction of that village of Étiolles. where he has been told that his mother is, just on that side of the horizon, the sky is rent asunder and opens. At first it is only a pale line of light fringing the dark skirts of the night, no more. But the band widens and there is a tremulous glimmer of light, like the uncertain flicker of a flame seeking the air to aid its ascent. Jack advances towards that light, in a frenzy of expectation that lends him the strength of ten. For something tells him that there he shall find his mother, and that there too is the end of that terrible night. And now appears a nimbus of light. It looks like a great clear eye, bathed in tears, tenderly, silently watching the child's approach. "I am coming, I am coming," he is tempted to call in answer to that blessed light that beckons him. The way has begun to grow white, and frightens him no longer. It is a fine road now, without stones or ditches. The carriages of the rich must roll luxuriously over such a road. On each side bathed in dew and in the roseate light of dawn, stately dwellings spread out their broad stone steps, their lawns already dotted with flowers, their winding walks, and fugitive shadows flitting across the sand. Between the white houses and the fruit walls, vineyards and verdant slopes descend to the river, which emerges from the night, mottled with dark blue, light green, and rose tints. And still that light spreads through the sky, growing nearer and nearer. Oh, arise and shine, maternal dawn! lend thy warmth and hope and strength to the weary child hastening on with outstretched arms. "Am I far from Etiolles?" Jack asks of some navvies who pass by in silent groups, half awake, their toolbags slung over their shoulders. No, he is not far from Étiolles. He has only to follow the forest "straight ahead." The forest too is awakening. The great green curtain stretched along the road flutters. Such a chirping and cooing and warbling! From the sweetbrier hedge answers are sped to VOL. I. -13 the venerable oaks. The branches rustle, bend beneath the sudden descent of wings, and while the last shadow of night is scattered, while the night birds with heavy and silent flight return to their mysterious retreats, a lark ascends from the plain, its delicate wings outspread, soars with sonorous vibrations tracing that first invisible furrow that on a perfect summer day, binds the deep peace of the sky with all the tumultuous sounds of earth. The child can walk no longer. He drags himself along. An old woman in tatters passes him, leading a goat. Her face is evil, but he asks again: "Am I far from Étiolles?" She looks at him savagely, but points towards a little stony path that ascends narrow and straight from the edge of the forest. In spite of his weariness, he goes on. The sun begins to grow warm. The dawn has fled; in its place a dazzling light that glows like a furnace. Jack understands that he is near his journey's end. He goes on, bent and tottering, stumbling over the stones that roll away from his feet; still he goes on. At last he sees a steeple rising above some roof tops surrounded by a mass of green. One last effort. He must reach that place. But his strength fails him. He sinks, pulls himself up, falls again, and then through his throbbing lids he sees quite near him a pretty little house, overgrown with vines, wistarias in flower, and climbing roses, that reach the |