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76 THE CONFESSION OF A FOOL
rounding a promontory : the roofs of red houses with white
garlands rose above the Scotch firs ; a flagstaff became
visible, the gay patchwork of the gardens, a bridge, a
chapel, a church steeple, a graveyard. . . . Was it a
dream ? A delusion ?
No, it was the quiet seaside place where I had spent
many summers in my student days. Up there was the
tiny house where I had passed a night, last spring, with
her and him, after we had spent the day sailing on the
sea and wandering through the woods. It was there
—
there—on the top of that hill, under the ash-trees, on the
balcony, where I had seen her delicate face, illuminated
by the sunshine of her golden hair, and crowned by the
little Japanese hat with the blue veil, while her small,
gloved hand had beckoned me to come to dinner. . . .
She was there now, I could see her plainly, she was waving
her handkerchief to me. . . . I could hear her melodious
voice . . . but . . . what was happening ? The boat
was slowing down, the engine stopped . . . the pilot
cutter came to meet us . . . in an instant ... a flash of
thought—a single, obsessing thought, moved me with
electric force—with tlie spring of a tiger I bounded up the
stairs which led to the bridge—I stood before the captain
—I shouted
—
" Have me put ashore at once—or I shall go mad !
"
The captain looked at me sharply, scrutinisingly, and
without vouchsafing a reply, dismayed as if he had looked
into the face of an escaped lunatic, he called to the second
oflicer and said, imperatively
—
" Have this gentleman and his luggage put ashore. He
is ill."
Before five minutes had elapsed, I was on board the
pilot cutter ; they rowed with such vigour that we landed
in a very short time.
I possess the remarkable gift of becoming blind and deaf
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