Philip Van Doren Stern (ed) (54 page)

"Tire
darkness
grew
apace;
a
cold
wind
began
to
blow
in
freshening gusts
from
the
east,
and
the
showering
white
flakes
in
the
air
increased in
number.
From
the
edge
of
the
sea
came
a
ripple
and
whisper. Iteyond
these
lifeless
sounds
the
world
was
silent.
Silent?
It
would he
hard
to
convey
the
stillness
of
it.
All
the
sounds
of
man,
the bleating
of
sheep,
the
cries
of
birds,
the
hum
of
insects,
the
stir
that makes
the
background
of
our
lives—all
that
was
over.
As
the
darkness
thickened,
the
eddying
flakes
grew
more
abundant,
dancing
before
my
eyes;
and
the
cold
of
the
air
more
intense.
At
last,
one
by one,
swiftly,
one
after
the
other,
the
white
peaks
of
the
distant
hills vanished
into
blackness.
The
breeze
rose
to
a
moaning
wind.
I
saw
i
lie
black
central
shadow
of
the
eclipse
sweeping
towards
me.
In another
moment
the
pale
stars
alone
were
visible.
All
else
was
rayless obscurity.
The
sky
was
absolutely
black.

"A
horror
of
this
great
darkness
came
on
me.
The
cold,
that
smote to
my
marrow,
and
the
pain
I
felt
in
breathing,
overcame
me.
I shivered,
and
a
deadly
nausea
seized
me.
Then
like
a
red-hot
bow
in
the sky appeared the edge of the sun. I got off the machine to recover
myself. I felt giddy and incapable of facing the return journey. As I stood
sick and confused I saw again the moving thing upon the shoal—there was no mistake
now that it was a moving thing— against the red water of the sea. It was a
round thing, the size of a football perhaps, or, it may be, bigger, and
tentacles trailed down from it; it seemed black against the weltering blood-red
water, and it was hopping fitfully about. Then I felt I was fainting. But a
terrible dread of lying helpless in that remote and awful twilight sustained me
while I clambered upon the saddle.

12 £fe>

"So
I
came back. For a long time
I
must
have been insensible upon the machine. The blinking succession of the days and
nights was resumed, the sun got golden again, the sky blue. I breathed with
greater freedom. The fluctuating contours of the land ebbed and flowed. The
hands spun backward upon the dials. At last I saw again the dim shadows of
houses, the evidences of decadent humanity. These, too, changed and passed, and
others came. Presently, when the millions dial was at zero, I slackened speed.
I began to recognise our own petty and familiar architecture, the thousands
hand ran back to the starting-point, the night and day flapped slower and
slower. Then the old walls of the laboratory came round me. Very gently, now, I
slowed the mechanism down.

"I
saw one little thing that seemed odd to me. I think I have told you that when I
set out, before my velocity became very high, Mrs. Watchett had walked across
the room, travelling, as it seemed to me, like a rocket. As I returned, I
passed again across that minute when she traversed the laboratory. But now her
every motion appeared to be the exact inversion of her previous ones. The door
at the lower end opened, and she glided quietly up the laboratory, back foremost,
and disappeared behind the door by which she had previously entered. Just
before that I seemed to see Hillyer for a moment; but he passed like a flash.

"Then
I stopped the machine, and saw about me again the old familiar laboratory, my
tools, my appliances just as I had left them.

I
got off the thing very shakily, and sat down upon my bench. For several minutes
I trembled violently. Then I became calmer. Around
nic
was my old workshop again, exactly as it had been. I might have slept
there, and the whole thing have been a dream.

"And
yet, not exactly! The thing had started from the south-east corner of the
laboratory. It had come to rest again in the north-west, against the wall where
you saw it. That gives you the exact distance from my little lawn to the
pedestal of the White Sphinx, into which
I
he Morlocks had carried my machine.

"For
a time rny brain went stagnant. Presently I got up and came llirough the
passage here, limping, because my heel was still painful, and feeling sorely
begrimed. I saw the Pall Mall Gazette on the table by the door. I found the
date was indeed to-day, and, looking at the limepiece, saw the hour was almost
eight o'clock. I heard your voices and the clatter of plates. I hesitated—I
felt so sick and weak. Then I sniffed good wholesome meat, and opened the door
on you. You know the rest. I washed, and dined, and now I am telling you the
story.

"I
know," he said, after a pause, "that all this will be absolutely
incredible to you. To me the one incredible thing is that I am here lo-night in
this old familiar room looking into your friendly faces and telling you these
strange adventures."

He
looked at the Medical Man. "No. I cannot expect you to believe it. Take it
as a lie—or a prophecy. Say I dreamed it in the workshop. Consider I have been
speculating upon the destinies of our race until I have hatched this fiction.
Treat my assertion of its truth as a mere stroke of art to enhance its
interest. And taking it as a story, what do you think of it?"

He
took up his pipe, and began, in his old accustomed manner, to tap with it
nervously upon the bars of the grate. There was a momentary stillness. Then
chairs began to creak and shoes to scrape upon the carpet. I took my eyes off
the Time Traveller's face, and looked round at his audience. They were in the
dark, and little spots oi colour swam before them. The Medical Man seemed
absorbed in the contemplation of our host. The Editor was looking hard at the
end of his cigar—the sixth. The Journalist fumbled for his watch. The others,
as far as I remember, were motionless.

The Editor stood up with
a
sigh. "What
a
pity
it is you're not
a
writer of stories!" he said, putting
his hand on the Time Traveller's shoulder.

"You don't believe
it?"

"Well
-------
"

"I thought not."

The
Time Traveller turned to us. "Where are the matches?" he said. He lit
one and spoke over his pipe, puffing. "To tell you the truth
...
I hardly believe it myself. . . . And
yet . . ."

His
eye fell with a mute inquiry upon the withered white flowers upon the little
table. Then he turned over the hand holding his pipe, and I saw he was looking
at some half-healed scars on his knuckles.

The
Medical Man rose, came to the lamp, and examined the flowers. "The
gynaaceum's odd," he said. The Psychologist leant forward to see, holding
out his hand for a specimen.

"I'm
hanged if it isn't a quarter to one," said the Journalist. "How shall
we get home?"

"Plenty of cabs at the
station," said the Psychologist.

"It's
a curious thing," said the Medical Man; "but I certainly don't know
the natural order of these flowers. May I have them?"

The Time Traveller
hesitated. Then suddenly: "Certainly not."

"Where did you really
get them?" said the Medical Man.

The
Time Traveller put his hand to his head. He spoke like one who was trying to
keep hold of an idea that eluded him. "They were put into my pocket by
Weena, when I travelled into Time." He stared round the room. "I'm damned
if it isn't all going. This room and you and the atmosphere of every day are
too much for my memory. Did I ever make a Time Machine, or a model of a Time
Machine? Or is it all only a dream? They say life is a dream, a precious poor
dream at times—but I can't stand another that won't fit. It's madness. And
where did the dream come from?
...
I
must look at that machine. If there is one!"