The Door in the Wall, and Other Stories by H. G. Wells (notion reading list TXT) đ
- Author: H. G. Wells
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ââYou are worth it,â I said, speaking without intending her to hear; âyou are worth it, my dearest one; worth pride and praise and all things. Love! to have you is worth them all together.â And at the murmur of my voice she turned about.
ââCome and see,â she criedâI can hear her nowââcome and see the sunrise upon Monte Solaro.â
âI remember how I sprang to my feet and joined her at the balcony. She put a white hand upon my shoulder and pointed towards great masses of limestone, flushing, as it were, into life. I looked. But first I noted the sunlight on her face caressing the lines of her cheeks and neck. How can I describe to you the scene we had before us? We were at Capriââ
âI have been there,â I said. âI have clambered up Monte Solaro and drunk vero Capriâmuddy stuff like ciderâat the summit.â
âAh!â said the man with the white face; âthen perhaps you can tell meâyou will know if this is indeed Capri. For in this life I have never been there. Let me describe it. We were in a little room, one of a vast multitude of little rooms, very cool and sunny, hollowed out of the limestone of a sort of cape, very high above the sea. The whole island, you know, was one enormous hotel, complex beyond explaining, and on the other side there were miles of floating hotels, and huge floating stages to which the flying machines came. They called it a pleasure city. Of course, there was none of that in your timeârather, I should say, is none of that now. Of course. Now!âyes.
âWell, this room of ours was at the extremity of the cape, so that one could see east and west. Eastward was a great cliffâa thousand feet high perhapsâcoldly gray except for one bright edge of gold, and beyond it the Isle of the Sirens, and a falling coast that faded and passed into the hot sunrise. And when one turned to the west, distinct and near was a little bay, a little beach still in shadow. And out of that shadow rose Solaro straight and tall, flushed and golden crested, like a beauty throned, and the white moon was floating behind her in the sky. And before us from east to west stretched the many-tinted sea all dotted with little sailing boats.
âTo the eastward, of course, these little boats were gray and very minute and clear, but to the westward they were little boats of goldâshining goldâalmost like little flames. And just below us was a rock with an arch worn through it. The blue sea-water broke to green and foam all round the rock, and a galley came gliding out of the arch.â
âI know that rock.â I said. âI was nearly drowned there. It is called the Faraglioni.â
âI Faraglioni? Yes, she called it that,â answered the man with the white face. âThere was some storyâbut thatââ
He put his hand to his forehead again. âNo,â he said, âI forget that story.â
âWell, that is the first thing I remember, the first dream I had, that little shaded room and the beautiful air and sky and that dear lady of mine, with her shining arms and her graceful robe, and how we sat and talked in half whispers to one another. We talked in whispers not because there was any one to hear, but because there was still such a freshness of mind between us that our thoughts were a little frightened, I think, to find themselves at last in words. And so they went softly.
âPresently we were hungry and we went from our apartment, going by a strange passage with a moving floor, until we came to the great breakfast roomâthere was a fountain and music. A pleasant and joyful place it was, with its sunlight and splashing, and the murmur of plucked strings. And we sat and ate and smiled at one another, and I would not heed a man who was watching me from a table near by.
âAnd afterwards we went on to the dancing-hall. But I cannot describe that hall. The place was enormousâlarger than any building you have ever seenâand in one place there was the old gate of Capri, caught into the wall of a gallery high overhead. Light girders, stems and threads of gold, burst from the pillars like fountains, streamed like an Aurora across the roof and interlaced, likeâlike conjuring tricks. All about the great circle for the dancers there were beautiful figures, strange dragons, and intricate and wonderful grotesques bearing lights. The place was inundated with artificial light that shamed the newborn day. And as we went through the throng the people turned about and looked at us, for all through the world my name and face were known, and how I had suddenly thrown up pride and struggle to come to this place. And they looked also at the lady beside me, though half the story of how at last she had come to me was unknown or mistold. And few of the men who were there, I know, but judged me a happy man, in spite of all the shame and dishonour that had come upon my name.
âThe air was full of music, full of harmonious scents, full of the rhythm of beautiful motions. Thousands of beautiful people swarmed about the hall, crowded the galleries, sat in a myriad recesses; they were dressed in splendid colours and crowned with flowers; thousands danced about the great circle beneath the white images of the ancient gods, and glorious processions of youths and maidens came and went. We two danced, not the dreary monotonies of your daysâof this time, I meanâbut dances that were beautiful, intoxicating. And even now I can see my lady dancingâdancing joyously. She danced, you know, with a serious face; she danced with a serious dignity, and yet she was smiling at me and caressing meâsmiling and caressing with her eyes.
âThe music was different,â he murmured. âIt wentâI cannot describe it; but it was infinitely richer and more varied than any music that has ever come to me awake.
âAnd thenâit was when we had done dancingâa man came to speak to me. He was a lean, resolute man, very soberly clad for that place, and already I had marked his face watching me in the breakfasting hall, and afterwards as we went along the passage I had avoided his eye. But now, as we sat in a little alcove, smiling at the pleasure of all the people who went to and fro across the shining floor, he came and touched me, and spoke to me so that I was forced to listen. And he asked that he might speak to me for a little time apart.
ââNo,â I said. âI have no secrets from this lady. What do you want to tell me?â
âHe said it was a trivial matter, or at least a dry matter, for a lady to hear.
ââPerhaps for me to hear,â said I.
âHe glanced at her, as though almost he would appeal to her. Then he asked me suddenly if I had heard of a great and avenging declaration that Evesham had made? Now, Evesham had always before been the man next to myself in the leadership of that great party in the north. He was a forcible, hard, and tactless man, and only I had been able to control and soften him. It was on his account even more than my own, I think, that the others had been so dismayed at my retreat. So this question about what he had done reawakened my old interest in the life I had put aside just for a moment.
ââI have taken no heed of any news for many days,â I said. What has Evesham been saying?â
âAnd with that the man began, nothing loth, and I must confess even I was struck by Eveshamâs reckless folly in the wild and threatening words he had used. And this messenger they had sent to me not only told me of Eveshamâs speech, but went on to ask counsel and to point out what need they had of me. While he talked, my lady sat a little forward and watched his face and mine.
âMy old habits of scheming and organising reasserted themselves. I could even see myself suddenly returning to the north, and all the dramatic effect of it. All that this man said witnessed to the disorder of the party indeed, but not to its damage. I should go back stronger than I had come. And then I thought of my lady. You seeâhow can I tell you? There were certain peculiarities of our relationshipâas things are I need not tell you about thatâwhich would render her presence with me impossible. I should have had to leave her; indeed, I should have had to renounce her clearly and openly, if I was to do all that I could do in the north. And the man knew that, even as he talked to her and me, knew it as well as she did, that my steps to duty wereâfirst, separation, then abandonment. At the touch of that thought my dream of a return was shattered. I turned on the man suddenly, as he was imagining his eloquence was gaining ground with me.
ââWhat have I to do with these things now?â I said. âI have done with them. Do you think I am coquetting with your people in coming here?â
ââNo,â he said. âButââ
ââWhy cannot you leave me alone. I have done with these things. I have ceased to be anything but a private man.â
ââYes,â he answered. âBut have you thought?âthis talk of war, these reckless challenges, these wild aggressionsââ
âI stood up.
ââNo,â I cried. âI wonât hear you. I took count of all those things, I weighed themâand I have come away.â
âHe seemed to consider the possibility of persistence. He looked from me to where the lady sat regarding us.
ââWar,â he said, as if he were speaking to himself, and then turned slowly from me and walked away.
âI stood, caught in the whirl of thoughts his appeal had set going.
âI heard my ladyâs voice.
ââDear,â she said; âbut if they had need of youââ
âShe did not finish her sentence, she let it rest there. I turned to her sweet face, and the balance of my mood swayed and reeled.
ââThey want me only to do the thing they dare not do themselves,â I said. âIf they distrust Evesham they must settle with him themselves.â
âShe looked at me doubtfully.
ââBut warââ she said.
âI saw a doubt on her face that I had seen before, a doubt of herself and me, the first shadow of the discovery that, seen strongly and completely, must drive us apart for ever.
âNow, I was an older mind than hers, and I could sway her to this belief or that.
ââMy dear one,â I said, âyou must not trouble over these things. There will be no war. Certainly there will be no war. The age of wars is past. Trust me to know the justice of this case. They have no right upon me, dearest, and no one has a right upon me. I have been free to choose my life, and I have chosen this.â
ââBut warâ,â she said.
âI sat down beside her. I put an arm behind her and took her hand in mine. I set myself to drive that doubt awayâI set myself to
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