- end_line
- 12079
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:52.924Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 11997
- text
- Nebuchadnezzar was king.
There he sits, a strange exotic, transplanted from the delectable
alcoves of the old manorial mansion, to take root in this niggard soil.
No more do the sweet purple airs of the hills round about the green
fields of Saddle Meadows come revivingly wafted to his cheek. Like a
flower he feels the change; his bloom is gone from his cheek; his cheek
is wilted and pale.
From the lofty window of that beggarly room, what is it that Pierre is
so intently eying? There is no street at his feet; like a profound black
gulf the open area of the quadrangle gapes beneath him. But across it,
and at the further end of the steep roof of the ancient church, there
looms the gray and grand old tower; emblem to Pierre of an unshakable
fortitude, which, deep-rooted in the heart of the earth, defied all the
howls of the air.
There is a door in Pierre's room opposite the window of Pierre: and now
a soft knock is heard in that direction, accompanied by gentle words,
asking whether the speaker might enter.
"Yes, always, sweet Isabel"--answered Pierre, rising and approaching
the door;--"here: let us drag out the old camp-bed for a sofa; come, sit
down now, my sister, and let us fancy ourselves anywhere thou wilt."
"Then, my brother, let us fancy ourselves in realms of everlasting
twilight and peace, where no bright sun shall rise, because the black
night is always its follower. Twilight and peace, my brother, twilight
and peace!"
"It is twilight now, my sister; and surely, this part of the city at
least seems still."
"Twilight now, but night soon; then a brief sun, and then another long
night. Peace now, but sleep and nothingness soon, and then hard work for
thee, my brother, till the sweet twilight come again."
"Let us light a candle, my sister; the evening is deepening."
"For what light a candle, dear Pierre?--Sit close to me, my brother."
He moved nearer to her, and stole one arm around her; her sweet head
leaned against his breast; each felt the other's throbbing.
"Oh, my dear Pierre, why should we always be longing for peace, and then
be impatient of peace when it comes? Tell me, my brother! Not two hours
ago, thou wert wishing for twilight, and now thou wantest a candle to
hurry the twilight's last lingering away."
But Pierre did not seem to hear her; his arm embraced her tighter; his
whole frame was invisibly trembling. Then suddenly in a low tone of
wonderful intensity he breathed:
"Isabel! Isabel!"
She caught one arm around him, as his was around herself; the tremor ran
from him to her; both sat dumb.
He rose, and paced the room.
"Well, Pierre; thou camest in here to arrange thy matters, thou saidst.
Now what hast thou done? Come, we will light a candle now."
The candle was lighted, and their talk went on.
"How about the papers, my brother? Dost thou find every thing right?
Hast thou decided upon what to publish first, while thou art writing the
new thing thou didst hint of?"
"Look at that chest, my sister. Seest thou not that the cords are yet
untied?"
"Then thou hast not been into it at all as yet?"
"Not at all, Isabel. In ten days I have lived ten thousand years.
Forewarned now of the rubbish in that chest, I can not summon the heart
to open it. Trash! Dross! Dirt!"
"Pierre! Pierre! what change is this? Didst thou not tell me, ere we
came hither, that thy chest not only contained some silver and gold, but
likewise far more precious things, readily convertible into silver and
gold? Ah, Pierre, thou didst swear we had naught to fear!"
- title
- Chunk 2