I went out into the wilderness. There the air was filled
and heaped with the odours of the heavenly plants that crowded its humble
floor, but they gave me no welcome. Between two bushes that flamed out
roses, I lay down, and the heather and the rose-trees closed above me. My
mind was in such a confusion of pain and pleasure--not without a hope of
deliverance somewhere in its clouded sky--that I could think no more, and
fell asleep.
I imagine that, had I never again seen the young man, I should not have
suffered. I think that, by slow natural degrees, his phantasmal presence
would have ceased to haunt me, and gradually I should have returned to my
former condition. I do not mean I should have forgotten him, but neither
should I have been troubled when I thought of him. I know I should never
have regretted having seen him. In that, I had nothing to blame myself
for, and should have felt--not that a glory had passed away from the
earth, but that I had had a vision of bliss. What it was, I should not
have had the power to recall, but it would have left with me the faith
that I had beheld something too ethereal for my memory to store. I should
have consoled myself both with the dream, and with the conviction that I
should not dream it again. The peaceful sense of recovered nearness to my
uncle would have been far more precious than the dream.
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