George swam down that green
way, much as one dreams of floating along a street, above-heads.
The path curved, and went hesitatingly down many terraces. Here,
from the dimness of the marge of the island, they gradually emerged
into the beginnings of the faint light. It was not like entering
upon dawn, or upon the moonlight. It was by no means like going to
meet the lights of a city. It was literally "a light better than
any light that ever shone," and it wrapped them round first like a
veil and then like a mantle. Dimly, as if released from the
censer-smoke of a magician's lamp, boughs and glades, lines and
curves were set free of the dark; and St. George and Amory could see
about them. Yet it did not occur to either to distrust the
phenomenon, or to regard it as unnatural or the fruit of any
unnatural law. It was somehow quite as convincing to them as is his
first sight of electric light to the boy of the countryside, and no
more to be regarded as witchcraft.
St. George was silent. It was as if he were on the threshold of
Far-Away, within the Porch of the Morning of some day divine.
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