Philip Van Doren Stern (ed) (45 page)

"I
don't
know
if
you
have
ever
thought
what
a
rare
thing
flame must
be
in
the
absence
of
man
and
in
a
temperate
climate.
The
sun's heat
is
rarely
strong
enough
to
burn,
even
when
it
is
focussed
by
dew-drops,
as
is
sometimes
the
case
in
more
tropical
districts.
Lightning may
blast
and
blacken,
but
it
rarely
gives
rise
to
widespread
fire. Decaying
vegetation
may
occasionally
smoulder
with
the
heat
of
its fermentation,
but
this
rarely
results
in
flame.
In
this
decadence;
too, the
art
of
fire-making
had
been
forgotten
on
the
earth.
The
red tongues
that
went
licking
up
my
heap
of
wood
were
an
altogether
new and
strange
thing
to
Weena.

"She
wanted
to
run
to
it
and
play
with
it.
I
believe
she
would
have cast
herself
into
it
had
I
not
restrained
her.
But
I
caught
her
up,
and, in
spite
of
her
struggles,
plunged
boldly
before
me
into
the
wood.
For a
little
way
the
glare
of
my
fire
lit
the
path.
Looking
back
presently, I
could
see,
through
the
crowded
stems,
that
from
my
heap
of
sticks the
blaze
had
spread
to
some
bushes
adjacent,
and
a
curved
line
of
fire was
creeping
up
the
grass
of
the
hill.
I
laughed
at
that,
and
turned again
to
the
dark
trees
before
me.
It
was
very
black,
and
Weena
clung lo
me
convulsively,
but
there
was
still,
as
my
eyes
grew
accustomed
to I
lie
darkness,
sufficient
light
for
me
to
avoid
the
stems.
Overhead
it was
simply
black,
except
where
a
gap
of
remote
blue
sky
shone
down upon
us
here
and
there.
I
struck
none
of
my
matches
because
I
had no
hand
free.
Upon
my
left
arm
I
carried
my
little
one,
in
my
right I
land
I
had
my
iron
bar.

"For
some
way
I
heard
nothing
but
the
crackling
twigs
under
my feet,
the
faint
rustle
of
the
breeze
above,
and
my
own
breathing
and the
throb
of
the
blood-vessels
in
my
ears.
Then
I
seemed
to
know
of a
pattering
about
me.
I
pushed
on
grimly.
The
pattering
grew
more distinct,
and
then
I
caught
the
same
queer
sounds
and
voices
I
had heard
in
the
Under-world.
There
were
evidently
several
of
the
Mor-locks,
and
they
were
closing
in
upon
me.
Indeed,
in
another
minute \
felt
a
tug
at
my
coat,
then
something
at
my
arm.
And
Weena shivered
violently,
and
became
quite
still.

"It
was
time
for
a
match.
But
to
get
one
I
must
put
her
down.
I did
so,
and,
as
I
fumbled
with
my
pocket,
a
struggle
began
in
the
darkness
about
my
knees,
perfectly
silent
on
her
part
and
with
the
same peculiar
cooing
sounds
from
the
Morlocks.
Soft
little
hands,
too,
were creeping
over
my
coat
and
back,
touching
even
my
neck.
Then
the match
scratched
and
fizzed.
I
held
it
flaring,
and
saw
the
white
backs of
the
Morlocks
in
flight
amid
the
trees.
I
hastily
took
a
lump
of camphor
from
my
pocket,
and
prepared
to
light
it
as
soon
as
the match
should
wane.
Then
I
looked
at
Weena.
She
was
lying
clutching my
feet
and
quite
motionless,
with
her
face
to
the
ground.
With
a sudden
fright
I
stooped
to
her.
She
seemed
scarcely
to
breathe.
I
lit the
block
of
camphor
and
flung
it
to
the
ground,
and
as
it
split
and flared
up
and
drove
back
the
Morlocks
and
the
shadows,
I
knelt
down and
lifted
her.
The
wood
behind
seemed
full
of
the
stir
and
murmur of
a
great
company!