Then again I seemed to know nothing, though somehow, all through, I felt the clasp of Haddie's hand and knew we were close together.
A beautiful light streaming down upon us, of which I was conscious even through my closed eyelids, was the next thing I remember. It seemed warm as well as bright, and I felt as if basking in it.
"Wake up, Geraldine," said Haddie's voice.
I opened my eyes. But now I have come to a part of my story which I have never been able, and never shall be able, to put into fitting words. The scene before me was too beautiful, too magically exquisite for me even to succeed in giving the faintest idea of it. Still I must try, though knowing that I cannot but fail.
Can you picture to yourselves the loveliest day of all the perfect summer days you have ever known—no, more than that, a day like summer and spring in one—the richness of colour, the balmy fragrance of the prime of the year joined to the freshness, the indescribable hopefulness and expectation which is the charm of the spring? The beauty and delight seemed made up of everything lovely mingled together—sights, sounds, scents, feelings. There was the murmur of running streams, the singing of birds, the most delicious scent from the flowers growing in profusion and of every shade of colour.
Haddie and I looked at each other—we still held each other by the hand, but now, somehow, we were standing together on the grass, though I could not remember having got down from my perch on the lion's back.
"Where are the lions, Haddie?" I said.
Haddie seemed to understand everything better than I did.
"They're all right," he replied, "resting a little. You see we've come a long way, Geraldine, and so quick."
"And where are we?" I asked. "What is this place, Haddie? Is it fairyland or—or—heaven?"