STEP IN THE DARK. Ethel Lina White

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ she was used to loss, the episode was one of her bitterest disappointments when she went downstairs to her bedroom—unescorted. She had been living up in the clouds with a blond and radiant lover, who brought her the supreme gift of laughter, together with a dream-title of "Countess."

      As she stumbled along the narrow carpeted passages which ran round two sides of the building, she suddenly realised that she was completely exhausted and that her bed was the only thing which really mattered. She could scarcely drag her legs to her room and when she reached it at last, it seemed small and stuffy in contrast with Mrs. Vanderpant's cool and lofty salon.

      She threw off her clothes and after swallowing another draught crossed to the window. Below her was the traffic of the noisy street, with illuminated tramcars bearing advertisements of unfamiliar cigarettes and mineral waters.

      Beyond rose a straggling map of lights which defined the higher parts of the city. Every spot was associated with the Count. Somewhere up there was the Congress Column and the Tomb of the Unknown Warrior, guarded by two bronze lions at his feet. As she gazed at the slope she thought of her own village, with the sound of the tide dragging back the pebbles, and the distant line of the sea.

      Although it held those she loved best, she rebelled at the idea of returning to it.

      "Not now—not after this," she murmured.

      Feeling hopeless and miserable she climbed into bed. Very soon her thoughts grew blurred and she forgot everything but the present. Her attacks of temperature were not unpleasant, for she lay in a dry baked heat which reminded her of basking in sun-warmed sand. The open window admitted the noise of the street and a faint light from the illuminations below, but no refreshing current of night air.

      The last thing she saw before she fell asleep was her evening frock, visible as a huddle of black draperies flung over the back of a chair.

      When she opened her eyes again, she was looking at it still; but she was conscious of other changes. A cool breeze blew in upon her from the window, which appeared to have moved closer. The room, too, seemed nearly doubled in size.

      "This is absurd," she thought. "I must still be asleep."

      She stretched out her hand to snap on the light, but the switch was no longer there. She was in the same bed, however, for she could distinguish the pattern of the printed bed-spread—blue poppies on a green ground. In further proof her watch was under her pillow, although the dial was too small for her to see the hands.

      Remembering that there was a view of a church clock from her window, she slid to the polished floor and groped her way towards it, only to be baffled by further transformation. The lighted street and the traffic had sunk into the ground. In its place was a vague darkness, blotched by a suggestion of foliage.

      As she tried vainly to pierce the gloom, she noticed an iron stair spiralling upwards, just beyond the window sill. The sight of it filled her with an overwhelming desire to climb up to the roof. Her favourite dream—sleeping or waking—was of a city of the Future, where buildings rose up in towering tiers and pedestrians walked high above the streets, which looped downwards to the lowest torrent of rushing traffic.

      "If this is a dream," she reasoned, "it's quite safe to get out of the window. But—I feel awake."

      She tried vainly to find some lucid explanation of her inexplicable predicament, but her brain was dark and torpid as though steeped in narcotic. Although the strange metamorphosis of her room seemed positive proof that she was dreaming, some submerged memory warned her to caution, as she tried to explore her surroundings.

      Her eyes had grown accustomed to the gloom, but she found it difficult to locate objects. All the furniture seemed different, and to stand in unaccustomed places. Only the mirror was in its usual place above the old-fashioned marble mantelpiece.

      Guided by its glimmer she groped her way towards it. The glass was so dark that at first she could see nothing. Gradually, however, she traced the outlines of tree trunks and bare branches, which seemed very far away.

      Instead of meeting her own familiar reflection she was looking into the vista of a snowy forest.

      "That proves it is a dream," she told herself exultantly. "Now I'll get up on the roof."

      Climbing fearlessly out of the window, she stood poised upon the narrow sill. There was scarcely room for her feet, but she stretched her arms above her head and strained up towards the stars, feeling certain that she would float up into the air.

      Although she did not fly, as the breeze blew through her thin sleeping suit, she felt light as a soap bubble. Filled with exhilaration, she swayed out across the narrow gulf of darkness and caught the iron rail of the stair. As she drew herself up without conscious effort she dimly realised that—owing to the drug—she was in a false dimension which was subject to the trickery of time, for she appeared to climb for hours without reaching the top.

      She was also subject to frequent black-outs, when she lost all consciousness of her surroundings. Higher and higher she mounted, until the stars were so low that she instinctively moved her head aside, to avoid entangling her hair in a dangling cluster.

      Presently, after a blank, she discovered that she had reached her goal, for she was walking along the elevated parapet of her city of the Future. She was so high up that she could not see the lights of the streets below, although she could hear the rising murmur of traffic like the hum of a bee. Drifting lightly along, like a leaf in a breeze, she thought that she had journeyed for miles, when she saw—at right angles to her path—the square of a lighted window.

      Thrilled at the promise of fresh adventure, she pushed open the casement, and leaped inside Even as she alighted, she was arrested by the sound of voices.

      Suddenly the immunity of a dreamer deserted her and the phantasy grew mercilessly real. As she realised her predicament, if she were caught in the act of entering a strange house, she felt hot with shame. But even as she darted towards the window, she checked her panic flight.

      "I've been here before," she told herself.

      The marble bust on a pedestal, the white sheep-skin rug, the atrocious daubs on a drain-pipe were all familiar. It was the vestibule where she had stood when the Count had slain her hope with a tender smile of farewell.

      The recollection overwhelmed her with so sharp a sense of desolation that she wanted to weep in the hopeless despair of a dream. Then, with a lightning change of mood, her thoughts drifted off on another track.

      "Perhaps the dinner-party is still going on," she thought. "We are all of us sitting round the table, on the other side of the curtain...If I peeped through, I might see Gustav again."

      Parting the curtain cautiously she looked through the folds with the confidence of seeing a stately and well-bred company posed like statues around a formal white feast.

      She was right—for they were still there, sitting at the same table. But a horrible and sinister change had taken place. The lace cloth and the orchids had gone, while the air was thick with a fog of smoke. Around a green roulette-cloth was gathered a circle of gamblers who watched the spinning wheel with greedy eyes.

      As she looked at them, Georgia felt that she was viewing a scene through a distorting glass. At first she saw strangers—a gross multi-chinned man and an elderly woman with pendulous rouged cheeks. Then, to her horror, she began to recognise some of the company.

      A drunken man with a snowy curling mane and a foolish СКАЧАТЬ