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- Спрут: Калифорнийская история
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“
Come
to
me
,
”
he
murmured
.
Then
slowly
he
felt
the
advance
of
the
Vision
.
It
was
approaching
.
Every
instant
it
drew
gradually
nearer
.
At
last
,
he
was
to
see
.
It
had
left
the
shadow
at
the
base
of
the
hill
;
it
was
on
the
hill
itself
.
Slowly
,
steadily
,
it
ascended
the
slope
;
just
below
him
there
,
he
heard
a
faint
stirring
.
The
grasses
rustled
under
the
touch
of
a
foot
.
The
leaves
of
the
bushes
murmured
,
as
a
hand
brushed
against
them
;
a
slender
twig
creaked
.
The
sounds
of
approach
were
more
distinct
.
They
came
nearer
.
They
reached
the
top
of
the
hill
.
They
were
within
whispering
distance
.
Vanamee
,
trembling
,
kept
his
head
buried
in
his
arm
.
The
sounds
,
at
length
,
paused
definitely
.
The
Vision
could
come
no
nearer
.
He
raised
his
head
and
looked
.
The
moon
had
risen
.
Its
great
shield
of
gold
stood
over
the
eastern
horizon
.
Within
six
feet
of
Vanamee
,
clear
and
distinct
,
against
the
disk
of
the
moon
,
stood
the
figure
of
a
young
girl
.
She
was
dressed
in
a
gown
of
scarlet
silk
,
with
flowing
sleeves
,
such
as
Japanese
wear
,
embroidered
with
flowers
and
figures
of
birds
worked
in
gold
threads
.
On
either
side
of
her
face
,
making
three
-
cornered
her
round
,
white
forehead
,
hung
the
soft
masses
of
her
hair
of
gold
.
Her
hands
hung
limply
at
her
sides
.
But
from
between
her
parted
lips
—
lips
of
almost
an
Egyptian
fulness
—
her
breath
came
slow
and
regular
,
and
her
eyes
,
heavy
lidded
,
slanting
upwards
toward
the
temples
,
perplexing
,
oriental
,
were
closed
.
She
was
asleep
.
From
out
this
life
of
flowers
,
this
world
of
colour
,
this
atmosphere
oppressive
with
perfume
,
this
darkness
clogged
and
cloyed
,
and
thickened
with
sweet
odours
,
she
came
to
him
.
She
came
to
him
from
out
of
the
flowers
,
the
smell
of
the
roses
in
her
hair
of
gold
,
the
aroma
and
the
imperial
red
of
the
carnations
in
her
lips
,
the
whiteness
of
the
lilies
,
the
perfume
of
the
lilies
,
and
the
lilies
’
slender
,
balancing
grace
in
her
neck
.
Her
hands
disengaged
the
scent
of
the
heliotrope
.
The
folds
of
her
scarlet
gown
gave
off
the
enervating
smell
of
poppies
.
Her
feet
were
redolent
of
hyacinth
.
She
stood
before
him
,
a
Vision
realised
—
a
dream
come
true
.
She
emerged
from
out
the
invisible
.
He
beheld
her
,
a
figure
of
gold
and
pale
vermilion
,
redolent
of
perfume
,
poised
motionless
in
the
faint
saffron
sheen
of
the
new
-
risen
moon
.
She
,
a
creation
of
sleep
,
was
herself
asleep
.
She
,
a
dream
,
was
herself
dreaming
.
Called
forth
from
out
the
darkness
,
from
the
grip
of
the
earth
,
the
embrace
of
the
grave
,
from
out
the
memory
of
corruption
,
she
rose
into
light
and
life
,
divinely
pure
.
Across
that
white
forehead
was
no
smudge
,
no
trace
of
an
earthly
pollution
—
no
mark
of
a
terrestrial
dishonour
.
He
saw
in
her
the
same
beauty
of
untainted
innocence
he
had
known
in
his
youth
.
Years
had
made
no
difference
with
her
.
She
was
still
young
.
It
was
the
old
purity
that
returned
,
the
deathless
beauty
,
the
ever
-
renascent
life
,
the
eternal
consecrated
and
immortal
youth
.
For
a
few
seconds
,
she
stood
there
before
him
,
and
he
,
upon
the
ground
at
her
feet
,
looked
up
at
her
,
spellbound
.
Then
,
slowly
she
withdrew
.
Still
asleep
,
her
eyelids
closed
,
she
turned
from
him
,
descending
the
slope
.
She
was
gone
.
Vanamee
started
up
,
coming
,
as
it
were
,
to
himself
,
looking
wildly
about
him
.
Sarria
was
there
.
“
I
saw
her
,
”
said
the
priest
.
“
It
was
Angele
,
the
little
girl
,
your
Angele
’
s
daughter
.
She
is
like
her
mother
.
”
But
Vanamee
scarcely
heard
.
He
walked
as
if
in
a
trance
,
pushing
by
Sarria
,
going
forth
from
the
garden
.
Angele
or
Angele
’
s
daughter
,
it
was
all
one
with
him
.
It
was
She
.
Death
was
overcome
.
The
grave
vanquished
.
Life
,
ever
-
renewed
,
alone
existed
.
Time
was
naught
;
change
was
naught
;
all
things
were
immortal
but
evil
;
all
things
eternal
but
grief
.
