“Then will you walk through the picture-galleries? You might find something of interest there if you care for art.”
“I have no particular wish to visit the galleries.”
“But you must do something,” she laughed. “You’ll have to do something. You can’t sit here all day.”
“No,” I remarked, rising. “I will go through the grounds—but alone, I need no companion.”
“Well, you may go alone if you wish it,” she declared, “but I will join you there. Solitude is not good for people; it makes them get into a ‘I’ll do this,’ and ‘I’ll do that,’ and ‘you’re not wanted,’ sort of way, which is very bad for them.”
So I went out alone, leaving her to follow when she cared.
It was quite true that the morning light was shining clear and bright, that the birds were singing and the fountain playing, but it was simply an unreal dream picture to me. I walked from terrace to terrace, descended steps and passed through grottoes, looked at the marvellous fountains and the curious fishes swimming in their basins; I passed down avenues of trees and flowers of softest shade and sweetest fragrance, and at last reached a spot where I heard the sound of the deep dark river. To me there was more reality about this heavy flowing stream than about anything around. I passed down a steep path that led to its banks and stood there looking in the inky tide. Like all deep silent things it had the power to keep me deep in thought. I am not quite sure but that its ever-lapping, flowing waters soothed me, for there I sat watching it and scanning the waste drear land beyond, scarcely conscious of anything besides.
I was aroused by Vestné calling me from above.
“Now I knew if I left you alone,” she explained, “you would come to the most dangerous spot. If you sit here much longer the dregs will poison you, as the vapour is ever rising.”
“I was feeling a much-wished-for restfulness,” I observed.