The Dreamer Of Dreams Part 18

[Ill.u.s.tration: _And there, leaning against a moss-grown crumbling tree, was a spirit-like being out of another world._]

No words can describe what Eric felt!

He only knew he was at the end of his way ... that all his wanderings were not in vain--that something marvellous and unspeakably sweet had suddenly flooded earth and sky, that the entire universe had become one song of praise, one cry of hope, one yearning desire of fulfilment....

There, before him in all their wonder and perfection, were the face and eyes that had stolen the peace from his soul and the art from his hands.

He fell on his knees, overcome by the surging emotion that filled heart and brain.

He could not grasp this amazing miracle that completely overwhelmed his being; the hermit's words alone rang in his ears: "It may not come in splendid raiment with a crown on its head, but keep thy heart open as well as thy eyes...." Yes, his eyes and heart both were open and a glorious light swept over his life, like a warm wave before which all resistance gives way, covering both past and future, with an immense longing for perfect achievement.

And this was the vision that had been at last revealed to the eyes that had searched with such tireless persistence, with such strong and faithful belief in the ultimate crowning of their desire: A girl, slim and ethereal, clad in the garment of poverty, a s.h.i.+rt-like dress over which a colourless scarf had been many times wound till the delicate figure resembled that of an Egyptian fresco; feet and arms were bare, and of utmost perfection.

From under a wreath of fragile harebells streamed the most exquisite tresses ever seen--rich brown in tone, but the sun had shone on them so lovingly long, that a haze of golden red had been breathed over them by all the rays that had ceaselessly caressed their softness.

She stood, her head thrown back; within her hand she held an old violin on which she was playing like one in a far-off world, for whom neither turmoil nor strife can exist, playing like an angel from the regions above, where no sin and no sorrow can have place....

But her face. Oh! her face ... in truth it was not of this world!

A radiance seemed to illuminate it from within, a s.h.i.+ne that could come but from a soul in touch with the infinite, a soul full of light and love and hope, that no material distance could sever from its perfect communion with G.o.d. And then her eyes! Large and grey, with a far-away look--eyes that see visions and dreams past the knowledge of man; starry and clear, yet deep as a summer sea; eyes in which lay hidden all the boundless illusions of our human race, mixed with a peace that has no name.

Above her head the leaves rustled with a whispering sound; the flowers trembled, shaking their bells in waves of blue. The last glow in the sky fell slanting through the branches upon the girlish figure, till she appeared to be a transparent apparition out of the legends of yore.

Serenely indifferent to the two who watched her in rapture and silence, she played her heavenly music, a distant hymn to a being she alone could see; and upon invisible wings the gentle evening breeze carried the rippling notes far away into the fading red of the sky....

The old woman came quite near to Eric and whispered in his ear:

"They say that she is mad; but I know things that lie deeper than the deepest ocean, which they never can understand; however, I shall teach thee some of my wisdom: G.o.d has pressed His lips on her eyes, so she ever sees visions we earthly mortals have not the power to conceive.

"She is not one of us! She is of a race as far removed from ours as the sky is removed from the earth. But those that live in the dust, whose feet move amidst the mud of the roads, cannot believe that a creature so spotless and pure can exist in this world and yet never soil its perfection!

"So they say she is daft and turn lightly away from a problem too deep for the comfort of their shallow souls: for verily it is easier to disbelieve what the common brain cannot fathom."

"But who is she?" queried Eric, with bated breath.

"Ah! that we shall never know.

"In a distant land far over the sea we were once wandering on a rich-coloured autumn morning, and there we found, on the grey steps of a church, an infant of marvellous beauty. Her pearly limbs were enfolded in fine linen and lace. We had mercy upon the innocent babe, for our hearts have not the colour of our faces; and since that blessed day she has been the joy of our tribe and the pride of both young and old.

"But when she grew to the age when she could talk, not a syllable could we understand. Her eyes for ever were searching the skies, and her words spoke of things she alone could perceive. Even I, who am wise, could not follow her sayings.

"But gradually an inner voice told me that there was something holy about this stranger maiden, something which removed her far from us, something that mortal hands should not touch.

"Then I understood that G.o.d had laid His hand upon her brain. Now she seldom speaks, but always plays these heartrending notes. Hark, fair stranger, listen if it is not unearthly and sweet."

Eric listened with all his soul; never before had such music come to his ears.

It was full of tears, and sighs, and hopes, and dreams; it was heavenly indeed, and yet a sobbing human chord pierced the whole, with a never-ending cry for the things that every poor mortal needs. It rose and fell, carried upon the changing tides of love and hope; it contained a yearning effort, a boundless longing, towards that land of chimeras and dreams beyond the boundaries of the earth.

Every chord seemed strung to a pulsing heart bound and fettered, yet gasping to be free.

Then it changed into an intensity of peace, like the soft winds of night descending slowly upon the heat and toil of the day; dying away into fading notes always fainter and sweeter, like the first breath of spring over sleeping woods, like the hushed voice of a great sadness that can still hope and believe ... and then, quite suddenly, there was silence, and only the summer breeze stirred amongst the boughs of the trees.

XXI

At last!

The fount of beauty, Fountain of all dreams, Now am I come upon my long desire.

FIONA MACLEOD.

Each day Eric came to this spot of beauty to look upon the being who was the realization of his soul's desire.

But the terrible mystery, that G.o.d allowed, was that this girl never even seemed to see that he was there.

Eric Gundian, who was adored of all--Eric of the golden locks, Eric the sweet-voiced,--could not make her eyes realize his presence.

The wandering people had received him into their hearts, as every man did upon whom he turned and smiled. They gave him a tent and begged him never more to depart.

But the living dream he had come so far to seek remained in a world of her own, to which he could not find the key. The dark tribe felt no rivalry towards this being of light who had so suddenly appeared in their midst. They saw that he was a creature apart, made of another clay, filled with another life; something that they could dearly love, but never completely understand.

Like the rough seamen on the s.h.i.+p, they hoped he would for ever cast in his lot with theirs and not depart as suddenly as he had come.

Zorka, the old fortune-teller, was his daily guide; and they all considered it natural that this glorious youth should have fallen beneath the spell of the mad girl, who was their greatest pride and deepest grief.

Had they not sought in turn a smile from her lips, a look out of the wonder of her eyes, and had she not always seen past them, far beyond, into horizons all her own, never noticing the glowing wors.h.i.+p that was cast at her feet?

Now they watched with growing anxiety if this handsome stranger would move her heart and bring her eyes down to this earth. They both hoped and feared.

They longed that the miracle should come to pa.s.s, and yet, in the deepest recesses of their hearts, there was not one who did not jealously dread the moment when, perchance, she might turn in love to this youth they knew was not as they. But none feared so much as old Zorka the witch--because had she not read within the flames of the fire, within the flight of the birds, within the forms of the smoke, within the ripples of the wave-kissed sands, that this maiden was not for earthly love, that the day when mortal lips should touch her with human caress she would fade away like vapour on the sea!

Indeed she may have erred in the reading of the signs, but it would be for the very first time in her life. So she cursed the day when she had led this beautiful boy into the presence of the girl she adored. And yet--and yet--can ever Fate be turned from the path upon which she glides? Must not one and all drink from the cup which has been fas.h.i.+oned for each separate lip?

Stella she had called the stranger maiden--Stella, because of her s.h.i.+ning orbs; and no doubt when G.o.d needed her amongst His other stars, He would then take her for His very own. Ah, the wise woman, with her weak and trembling hands, how could she change the course of the moving worlds!

So she sat by her fire and stared into the bluey flames, her old head bent, her knotted palms resting on her knees, puffing away at her pipe of clay, seeing weird shapes in the smoke that rose quivering to the sky.

So much had she seen, so much ... so much:

Lands of suns.h.i.+ne and regions of snow, storm-tossed waves and calmest sea, visions of beauty and visions of pain; men that live in the clear light of day and men that crawl in the shadows of night. She had seen things that had their beginnings in joy, and things that ended in sorrow, creatures that live and creatures that die, women that love and others that hate. Murder she had seen; and her ears had heard the last groaning sighs of the dying, as they had hearkened for the sounds of hope when the human soul was being cast naked into this world of sorrow.

The beginnings and the ends. Yes, everything had come her way,--her eyes were dim and tired from having seen all too much!

And now as she waited here not far from that island of promise, she knew that the youthful wanderer was giving all his soul in an agony of hope and expectation. She knew she was poor and helpless before these mysteries of life; that at times even the wisest hands must hang in idle rest.

Yes, day by day Eric came and sat beside this treasure he had found, and yet it was still as far removed as in the days when he was only dreaming.