The Broad Highway

Some one was calling to me, a long way off.

Some one was leaning down from a great height to call to me in

the depths; and the voice was wonderfully sweet, but faint,

faint, because the height was so very high, and the depths so

very great.

And still the voice called and called, and I felt sorry that I

could not answer, because, as I say, the voice was troubled, and

wonderfully sweet.

And, little by little, it seemed that it grew nearer, this voice;

was it descending to me in these depths of blackness, or was I

being lifted up to the heights where, I knew, blackness could not

be? Ay, indeed, I was being lifted, for I could feel a hand upon

my brow--a smooth, cool hand that touched my cheek, and brushed

the hair from my forehead; a strong, gentle hand it was, with

soft fingers, and it was lifting me up and up from the loathly

depths which seemed more black and more horrible the farther I

drew from them.

And so I heard the voice nearer, and ever nearer, until I could

distinguish words, and the voice had tears in it, and the words

were very tender.

"Peter--speak!--speak to me, Peter!"

"Charmian?" said I, within myself; "why, truly, whose hand but

hers could have lifted me out of that gulf of death, back to

light and life?" Yet I did not speak aloud, for I had no mind

to, yet a while.

"Ah! speak to me--speak to me, Peter! How can you lie there so

still and pale?"

And now her arms were about me, strong and protecting, and my

head was drawn down upon her bosom.

"Oh, Peter!--my Peter!"

Nay, but was this Charmian, the cold, proud Charmian? Truly I

had never heard that thrill in her voice before--could this indeed

be Charmian? And lying thus, with my head on this sweet pillow,

I could hear her heart whispering to me, and it seemed that it

was striving to tell me something--striving, striving to tell me

something, could I but understand--ah! could I but understand!

"I waited for you so long--so long, Peter--and the supper is all

spoiled--a rabbit, Peter--you liked rabbit, and--and oh, God! I

want you--don't you hear me, Peter--I want you--want you!" and

now her cheek was pressed to mine, and her lips were upon my hair,

and upon my brow--her lips! Was this indeed Charmian, and was I

Peter Vibart? Ah, if I could but know what it was her heart was

trying to tell me, so quickly and passionately!