Philip Van Doren Stern (ed) (74 page)

I
gave
a
little
sharp
cry
unwittingly,
as
though
the
terror
had
crawled
into
my
throat,
and
his
voice
fell
away
while
he
took
my
arm
firmly,
for
I
had
stumbled
over
the
first
step
as
we
began
to
mount
the
stair
case.
"Don't
be
frightened,
don't
feel
fear,
or
anything
negative,"
he
concluded,
his
arm
preventing
me
falling.
"Feel
sympathy,
curiosity,
interest,
even
scepticism
if
you
like.
But
don't
feel
fear,"
he
repeated.
"I
have
come
to
this
house
four
times
a
week
ever
since
he
left
us.
I
have
sat
here
waiting,
hoping
for
hours
on
end,
without
result,
though
once—once
only—I
saw
de
Frasne—rushing—rushing
with
the
speed
of
light
and
through
every
room
and
passage
simultaneously—rushing,
I
tell
you,
with
etheric
speed,
etheric
omnipresence—but
of
him,
no
sign,
and
I
knew
at
last
that
only
you
could
get
him
back,
because
you
were
with
him
when
he
went.
You
are
a
sign-post,
if
you
like,
the
point
of
departure
and
so
the
point
of
return—of
simultaneous
return.
Above
all,
therefore,
feel
no
fear,
for
fear
repels
and
blocks
        
"

A
cry
interrupted
this
amazing
flow.
It
sounded
overhead
again,
in the
dark
space
of
the
landing.
It
called
my
name,
but
it
was
fainter than
before
and
held
a
curious
touch
of
fading
distance.
We
were halfway
up
the
stairs.
I
stopped
dead.

"Answer
him,
answer,"
urged
Vronski
quickly,
almost
passionately. "Say
you're
here."
And
making
a
great
effort,
I
obeyed.

"I'm
here,
Sydney,
I'm
coming
to
you,"
my
voice
rose
out
of
some kind
of
automatism.
"Hold
on!"
And
Vronski,
hastening
his
step, dragged
me
with
him.
"Remember,"
he
whispered
in
my
ear,
"remember
all
he
says,
for
he
can
tell
marvellous
things,
though
probably
to you
only."

We
reached
the
landing,
and
Vronski
flashed
his
torch
along
the corridor,
flooding
it
with
light,
illuminating
several
doors,
a
whole series
of
doors
belonging,
apparently,
to
bedrooms,
and
one
of
these doors
stood
open.
It
was
standing
ajar.
These
details
showed
up
with vivid
clearness
instantly,
but
it
was
something
else
I
saw
simultaneously
that
my
attention
fastened
on
with
immediate
horror,
although horror
is
not
the
accurate
word,
since
the
amazement
in
me—I
can only
call
it
an
explosion
of
amazement—was
of
too
vast,
too
strange
a kind
to
include
a
negative
emotion
such
as
horror.
For
I
saw
several figures,
a
series
of
them,
all
moving
with
great
rapidity,
moving
in
the three
directions
known
to
us,
up,
down,
across,
yet
all
moving
in
some incredible
manner
simultaneously—a
figure
I
recognised,
the
figure of
de
Frasne.
It
is
of
course
impossible
to
describe,
it
lies
entirely beyond
words,
beyond
our
three-dimensional
experience,
which
is
all we
have.
For,
in
addition
to
this
multiplication
of
one
figure
into numerous
duplicates,
it,
or
they,
were
moving
in
other
places
than this
stretch
of
illuminated
corridor.
They
moved
along
other
passages, through
other
rooms
on
floors
upstairs
and
downstairs,
moved
up
and down
between
floors
and
ceilings
elsewhere
in
the
house.
They
were, in
fact,
all
over
the
building,
and
in
the
same
instant,
while
yet
the whole
series
of
figures,
as
I
have
said,
was
always
one
and
the
same, the
figure
of
de
Frasne.