It must be a subjective experience, I argued--none
the less real for that, but still subjective. The moonlight and the
branches combined to work out these pictures upon the mirror of my
imagination, and for some reason I projected them outwards and made them
appear objective. I knew this must be the case, of course. I took courage,
and began to move forward across the open patches of sand. By Jove, though,
was it all hallucination? Was it merely subjective? Did not my reason argue
in the old futile way from the little standard of the known?
I only know that great column of figures ascended darkly into the sky for
what seemed a very long period of time, and with a very complete measure of
reality as most men are accustomed to gauge reality. Then suddenly they
were gone!
And, once they were gone and the immediate wonder of their great presence
had passed, fear came down upon me with a cold rush. The esoteric meaning
of this lonely and haunted region suddenly flamed up within me, and I began
to tremble dreadfully. I took a quick look round--a look of horror that
came near to panic--calculating vainly ways of escape; and then, realizing
how helpless I was to achieve anything really effective, I crept back
silently into the tent and lay down again upon my sandy mattress, first
lowering the door-curtain to shut out the sight of the willows in the
moonlight, and then burying my head as deeply as possible beneath the
blankets to deaden the sound of the terrifying wind.
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