The Collected Fiction of William Hope Hodgson: The Dream Of X & Other Fantastic Visions Read Free

ther sperret in me became broke, ’n I wus ’s er lonesome child, ’n all ther bitterness wer gone from me. Then I said ther words that had not passed me lips by reason o’ ther bitterness o’ me stubborn ’art:
    “ ‘Ther Lord gev, an’ ther Lord ’ath teken away; blessed be ther Name o’ ther Lord.’
    “An’ ther Voice kem agin; but ’twer softer like, ’n I no longer wus feared.
    “ ‘Lo!’ et said, ‘thy ’art is become like unter ther ’art o’ one o’ ther leetle ones whose sperrets dew always behold ther face o’ ther Father. Look now wi’ ther eyes o’ a child, ’n them shalt behold ther Place o’ ther Leetle Ones—ther valley wher’ maybe found ther lost childer o’ ther ’arth. Know thou thet ther leetle folk whom ther Lord teketh pass not inter ther Valley o’ ther Shadder, but inter ther Valley o’ Light.’
    “An’ immediate I looked an’ saw right thro’ ther logs o’ ther back o’ ther shanty. I cud see ’s plain ’s plain, lookin’ out onter a mighty wilderness o’ country, ’n et seemed ’s tho’ ther sperret o’ me went forrard a space inter ther night, an’ then, mighty suddin et wer’, I wus lookin’ down inter a tur’ble big valley. ’Twer’ all lit up ’n shinin’; tho’ ’twer’ midnight, ’n everywher’ wer’ mighty flowers ’s seemed ter shine o’ ther own accord, an’ thar wer’ leetle brooks runnin’ among ’em ’n singin’ like canary birds, ’n grass ’s fresh ’s ther ’art o’ a maid. An’ ther valley wer’ all shet in by mortial great cliffs ’s seemed ter be made o’ nothin’ but mighty walls o’ moonstone; fer they sent out light’s tho’ moons wer’ sleepin’ ahind ’em.
    “After awhile I tuk a look way up inter ther sky ’bove ther valley, an’ ’twer’s tho’ I looked up a mighty great funnel—hunder ’n hunder o’ miles o’ night on each side o’ et; but ther sky ’bove ther valley wer’ most wonnerful o’ all; fer thar wer’ seven suns in et, ’n each one o’ a diff’rent colour, an’ soft tinted, like ’s tho’ a mist wer’ round ’em.
    “An’ presently, I tarned an’ looked agin inter ther valley; fer I hedn’t seen ther half o’ et, ’n now I made out sumthin’s I’d missed befor’—a wee bit o’ a child sleepin’ under a great flower, ’n now I saw more—Eh! but I made out a mighty multitoode o’ ’em. They ’adn’t no wings, now I come ter think o’ et, an’ no closes; but I guess closes wer’n’t needed; fer ’t must heve bin like a ’tarnal summer down thar; no I guess—”
    The old man stopped a moment, as though to meditate upon this point. He was still stroking the woman’s hand, and she, perhaps because of the magnetism of his sympathy, was crying silently.
    In a moment he resumed;
    “Et wer’ jest after discoverin’ ther childer’s I made out ’s thar wer’ no cliff ter ther end o’ ther valley upon me left. Inste’d o’ cliff, et seemed ter me ’s a mighty wall o’ shadder went acrost from one side ter ther other. I wus starin’ an’ wondering’, w’en a voice whispered low in me ear: ‘Ther Valley o’ ther Shadder o’ Death,’ ’n I knew ’s I’d come ter ther valley o’ ther lost childer—which wer’ named ther Valley o’ Light. Fer ther Valley of ther Shadder, ’n ther Valley o’ ther Lost Childer come end ter end.
    “Fer a while I stared, ’n presently et seemed ter me ’s I could see ther shadders o’ grown men ’n wimmin within ther darkness o’ ther Valley o’ Death, an’ they seemed ter be groping’ ’n gropin’; but down in ther Valley of Light some of ther childer had waked, ’n wer’ playin’ ’bout, an’ ther light o’ ther seven suns covered ’em, ’n made ’em j’yful.
    “Et wer’ a bit later ’s I saw a bit o’ a gell sleepin’ in ther shade o’ a leetle tree all covered wi’ flowers. Et seemed ter me’s she hed er look o’ mine; but I cudn’t be sure, cause ’er face