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By
the
next
night
he
had
opened
the
doors
wide
to
his
dark
thoughts
and
they
had
come
trooping
and
rushing
back
.
He
left
the
valley
and
went
on
his
wandering
way
again
.
But
,
strange
as
it
seemed
to
him
,
there
were
minutes
—
sometimes
half
-
hours
—
when
,
without
his
knowing
why
,
the
black
burden
seemed
to
lift
itself
again
and
he
knew
he
was
a
living
man
and
not
a
dead
one
.
Slowly
—
slowly
—
for
no
reason
that
he
knew
of
—
he
was
“
coming
alive
”
with
the
garden
.
As
the
golden
summer
changed
into
the
deep
golden
autumn
he
went
to
the
Lake
of
Como
.
There
he
found
the
loveliness
of
a
dream
.
He
spent
his
days
upon
the
crystal
blueness
of
the
lake
or
he
walked
back
into
the
soft
thick
verdure
of
the
hills
and
tramped
until
he
was
tired
so
that
he
might
sleep
.
But
by
this
time
he
had
begun
to
sleep
better
,
he
knew
,
and
his
dreams
had
ceased
to
be
a
terror
to
him
.
“
Perhaps
,
”
he
thought
,
“
my
body
is
growing
stronger
.
”
It
was
growing
stronger
but
—
because
of
the
rare
peaceful
hours
when
his
thoughts
were
changed
—
his
soul
was
slowly
growing
stronger
,
too
.
He
began
to
think
of
Misselthwaite
and
wonder
if
he
should
not
go
home
.
Now
and
then
he
wondered
vaguely
about
his
boy
and
asked
himself
what
he
should
feel
when
he
went
and
stood
by
the
carved
four
-
posted
bed
again
and
looked
down
at
the
sharply
chiseled
ivory
-
white
face
while
it
slept
and
,
the
black
lashes
rimmed
so
startlingly
the
close
-
shut
eyes
.
He
shrank
from
it
.
One
marvel
of
a
day
he
had
walked
so
far
that
when
he
returned
the
moon
was
high
and
full
and
all
the
world
was
purple
shadow
and
silver
.
The
stillness
of
lake
and
shore
and
wood
was
so
wonderful
that
he
did
not
go
into
the
villa
he
lived
in
.
He
walked
down
to
a
little
bowered
terrace
at
the
water
’
s
edge
and
sat
upon
a
seat
and
breathed
in
all
the
heavenly
scents
of
the
night
.
He
felt
the
strange
calmness
stealing
over
him
and
it
grew
deeper
and
deeper
until
he
fell
asleep
.
He
did
not
know
when
he
fell
asleep
and
when
he
began
to
dream
;
his
dream
was
so
real
that
he
did
not
feel
as
if
he
were
dreaming
.
He
remembered
afterward
how
intensely
wide
awake
and
alert
he
had
thought
he
was
.
He
thought
that
as
he
sat
and
breathed
in
the
scent
of
the
late
roses
and
listened
to
the
lapping
of
the
water
at
his
feet
he
heard
a
voice
calling
.
It
was
sweet
and
clear
and
happy
and
far
away
.
It
seemed
very
far
,
but
he
heard
it
as
distinctly
as
if
it
had
been
at
his
very
side
.
“
Archie
!
Archie
!
Archie
!
”
it
said
,
and
then
again
,
sweeter
and
clearer
than
before
,
“
Archie
!
Archie
!
”
He
thought
he
sprang
to
his
feet
not
even
startled
.
It
was
such
a
real
voice
and
it
seemed
so
natural
that
he
should
hear
it
.
“
Lilias
!
Lilias
!
”
he
answered
.
“
Lilias
!
where
are
you
?
”
