CHAPTER XV. THE LONG VACATION.

conferanamelessexperiencethathadthehue,themien,theterror,theverytoneofavisitationfrometernity.Betweentwelveandonethatnightacupwasforcedtomylips,black,strong,strange,drawnfromnowell,butfilledupseethingfromabottomlessandboundlesssea.Suffering,brewedintemporalorcalculablemeasure,andmixedformortallips,tastesnotasthissufferingtasted.Havingdrankandwoke,Ithoughtallwasover:theendcomeandpastby.Tremblingfearfully—asconsciousnessreturned—readytocryoutonsomefellow-creaturetohelpme,onlythatIknewnofellow-creaturewasnearenoughtocatchthewildsummons—Gotoninherfardistantatticcouldnothear—Iroseonmykneesinbed.Somefearfulhourswentoverme:indescribablywasItorn,rackedandoppressedinmind.AmidstthehorrorsofthatdreamIthinktheworstlayhere.Methoughtthewell-loveddead,whohadlovedmewellinlife,metmeelsewhere,alienated:galledwasmyinmostspiritwithanunutterablesenseofdespairaboutthefuture.MotivetherewasnonewhyIshouldtrytorecoverorwishtoliveandyetquiteunendurablewasthepitilessandhaughtyvoiceinwhichDeathchallengedmetoengagehisunknownterrors.WhenItriedtoprayIcouldonlyutterthesewords:“FrommyyouthupThyterrorshaveIsufferedwithatroubledmind.” Mosttruewasit. OnbringingmemyteanextmorningGotonurgedmetocallinadoctor.Iwouldnot:Ithoughtnodoctorcouldcureme. Oneevening—andIwasnotdelirious:Iwasinmysanemind,Igotup—Idressedmyself,weakandshaking.Thesolitudeandthestillnessofthelongdormitorycouldnotbeborneanylongertheghastlywhitebedswereturningintospectres—thecoronalofeachbecameadeath’s-head,hugeandsun-bleached—deaddreamsofanelderworldandmightierracelayfrozenintheirwidegapingeyeholes.ThateveningmorefirmlythaneverfastenedintomysoultheconvictionthatFatewasofstone,andHopeafalseidol—blind,bloodless,andofgranitecore.Ifelt,too,thatthetrialGodhadappointedmewasgainingitsclimax,andmustnowbeturnedbymyownhands,hot,feeble,tremblingastheywere.Itrainedstill,andblewbutwithmoreclemency,Ithought,thanithadpouredandragedallday.Twilightwasfalling,andIdeemeditsinfluencepitifulfromthelatticeIsawcomingnight-cloudstrailinglowlikebannersdrooping.ItseemedtomethatatthishourtherewasaffectionandsorrowinHeavenaboveforallpainsufferedonearthbeneaththeweightofmydreadfuldreambecamealleviated—thatinsufferablethoughtofbeingnomoreloved—nomoreowned,half-yieldedtohopeofthecontrary—IwassurethishopewouldshineclearerifIgotoutfromunderthishouse-roof,whichwascrushingastheslabofatomb,andwentoutsidethecitytoacertainquiethill,alongwaydistantinthefields.Coveredwithacloak(Icouldnotbedelirious,forIhadsenseandrecollectiontoputonwarmclothing),forthIset.Thebellsofachurcharrestedmeinpassingtheyseemedtocallmeintothesalut,andIwentin.Anysolemnrite,anyspectacleofsincereworship,anyopeningforappealtoGodwasaswelcometomethenasbreadtooneinextremityofwant.Ikneltdownwithothersonthestonepavement.Itwasanoldsolemnchurch,itspervadinggloomnotgildedbutpurpledbylightshedthroughstainedglass. Fewworshipperswereassembled,and,thesalutover,halfofthemdeparted.Idiscoveredsoonthatthoseleftremainedtoconfess.Ididnotstir.Carefullyeverydoorofthechurchwasshutaholyquietsankupon,andasolemnshadegatheredaboutus.Afteraspace,breathlessandspentinprayer,apenitentapproachedtheconfessional.Iwatched.Shewhisperedheravowalhershriftwaswhisperedbackshereturnedconsoled.Anotherwent,andanother.Apalelady,kneelingnearme,saidinalow,kindvoice:—“Goyounow,Iamnotquiteprepared.” Mechanicallyobedient,Iroseandwent.IknewwhatIwasaboutmymindhadrunovertheintentwithlightning-speed.TotakethisstepcouldnotmakememorewretchedthanIwasitmightsootheme. Thepriestwithintheconfessionalneverturnedhiseyestoregardmeheonlyquietlyinclinedhiseartomylips.Hemightbeagoodman,butthisdutyhadbecometohimasortofform:hewentthroughitwiththephlegmofcustom.IhesitatedoftheformulaofconfessionIwasignorant:insteadofcommencing,then,withthepreludeusual,Isaid:—“Monpère,jesuisProtestante.” Hedirectlyturned.Hewasnotanativepriest:ofthatclass,thecastofphysiognomyis,almostinvariably,grovelling:IsawbyhisprofileandbrowhewasaFrenchmanthoughgreyandadvancedinyears,hedidnot,Ithink,lackfeelingorintelligence.Heinquired,notunkindly,why,beingaProtestant,Icametohim? IsaidIwasperishingforawordofadviceoranaccentofcomfort.IhadbeenlivingforsomeweeksquitealoneIhadbeenillIhadapressureofafflictiononmymindofwhichitwouldhardlyanylongerenduretheweight. “Wasitasin,acrime?”heinquired,somewhatstartled.Ireassuredhimonthispoint,and,aswellasIcould,Ishowedhimthemereoutlineofmyexperience. Helookedthoughtful,surprised,puzzled.“Youtakemeunaw