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branch beneath it, and so steadily down from branch to branch, until at last her groping right foot
felt beneath it not hard wood but the soft strength of Wrolf's back. With a sigh of content she settled
herself there and took firm hold of his furry ruff.
"I'm ready, Wrolf," she said.
He was off at once at a steady pace through the black and white magic of the moonlit formal
garden. With his paw he lifted the latch of the gate that was now locked and they were out in the
park, going in the direction of the pine woods. Maria gazed in delight at the beauty of the moonlit
world. It was utterly quiet and still. Not a bird cried, not a leaf stirred.
Yet in spite of the peace of the night, when they had left the park behind them and passed into the
pine wood she suddenly felt desperately afraid, not of the Black Men but of the darkness. The
moonlight could not penetrate the thick canopy of the pine branches overhead and the inky
blackness was like a pall muffling not only movement and sight but breath too; Wrolf was going
very slowly now and she could not imagine how he was to find the way. And she was afraid, too,
that the unseen trees would strike at her. And not only the trees but hobgoblins and sprites who
perhaps lived in these woods and had the hours of darkness for their own. She found herself riding
with one arm raised to protect her face and her mouth suddenly dry with fear. Once, when an
unseen twig plucked at her hair, she thought it was a hand that plucked, and when a bramble caught
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at her skirt she felt that hands were trying to pull her off Wrolf's back, and she had hard work not to
cry out. And then she had a feeling, just because she could not see him, that Wrolf had left her. It
was not Wrolf she was riding, but some horrible nightmare beast who was carrying her deeper and
deeper into fear.
"If there's never any light I don't think I can bear it," she thought. And then she said to herself that
she must bear it. All things come to an end, even the night. Resolutely she lowered the arm she had
raised to protect herself, straightened her shoulders and smiled into the darkness.
And then, almost as though her smile had been a flame that set a lantern shining, she found that she
could see a little. She could distinguish the shaggy head of her mount and he was her own dear
Wrolf. And she could dimly see the shapes of the trees. And then the silvery light grew even
stronger and was in itself so good that she knew no evil thing could live within it.
"It must be moonlight," she thought, but yet she knew that no moonlight could get through the
canopy of darkness overhead, and that not even the moon had quite so wonderful a radiance.
And then she saw him. A little white horse was cantering ahead of them, leading the way, and from
his perfect milk-white body, as from a lamp, there shone the light.
He was some way ahead of them but for one flashing moment she saw him perfectly, clear-cut as a
cameo against the darkness, and the proud curve of the neck, the flowing white mane and tail, the
flash of the silver hoofs, were utterly strange and yet utterly familiar to her, as though eyes that had
seen him often before looked through her eyes that had not until now looked steadily upon his
beauty. She was not even surprised when he turned his head a little and looked back at her and she
saw a strange silver horn sticking out of his forehead. Her little white horse was a unicorn.
After that they traveled with speed, Wrolf managing to keep the little white horse in sight. But they
never caught up with him, and Maria didn't again see him so clearly as she had in that first moment
of vision; for the rest of the way he was just a steady shining, a moving shape of light whose outline
was not again clear-cut against the darkness. Yet she was content with what she saw, content even
when the trees thinned out and the darkness faded, and against the growing splendor of moonlight
beyond, the radiance of the little white horse slowly dimmed; content even when it vanished. For
now she had seen him twice over, and the fact of him was a thing that she would not doubt again.
And perhaps she would see him once more. She had a strong feeling that she was going to see him
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just once more.
And now she and Wrolf were out in the clearing, looking up at the Black Men's castle, and over the
top of it the moon hung in the sky like a great shield, and emblazoned upon it was the outline of a
man bent nearly double by the burden that he carried on his back.
"Poor man!" said Maria. "It's Monsieur Cocq de Noir up there in the moon, Wrolf, and he's carrying
his wickedness on his back like Christian in the Pilgrim's Progress. He'll be glad when he's thrown it
away."
But this remark was only answered by Wrolf with a contemptuous snort as he crossed the clearing [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]