- end_line
- 3188
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:52.918Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 3160
- text
- The child snatched the dying man's hand; it faintly grew to his grasp;
but on the other side of the bed, the other hand now also emptily lifted
itself and emptily caught, as if at some other childish fingers. Then
both hands dropped on the sheet; and in the twinkling shadows of the
evening little Pierre seemed to see, that while the hand which he held
wore a faint, feverish flush, the other empty one was ashy white as a
leper's.
"It is past," whispered the nurse, "he will wander so no more now till
midnight,--that is his wont." And then, in her heart, she wondered how
it was, that so excellent a gentleman, and so thoroughly good a man,
should wander so ambiguously in his mind; and trembled to think of that
mysterious thing in the soul, which seems to acknowledge no human
jurisdiction, but in spite of the individual's own innocent self, will
still dream horrid dreams, and mutter unmentionable thoughts; and into
Pierre's awe-stricken, childish soul, there entered a kindred, though
still more nebulous conceit. But it belonged to the spheres of the
impalpable ether; and the child soon threw other and sweeter
remembrances over it, and covered it up; and at last, it was blended
with all other dim things, and imaginings of dimness; and so, seemed to
survive to no real life in Pierre. But though through many long years
the henbane showed no leaves in his soul; yet the sunken seed was
there: and the first glimpse of Isabel's letter caused it to spring
forth, as by magic. Then, again, the long-hushed, plaintive and
infinitely pitiable voice was heard,--"My daughter! my daughter!"
followed by the compunctious "God! God!" And to Pierre, once again the
empty hand lifted itself, and once again the ashy hand fell.
- title
- Chunk 4