SHE COULD HAVE climbed out of the deep pit into which she had fallen if only she had been able to breathe. They had tied a scarf over her mouth and nose which she could not tear off. Sometimes she knew that there was no scarf; she was losing the power to breathe. Even so, she sometimes got her head and shoulders over the top of the pit, which was lined with spruce boughs. Then she saw Xamdu, its cool waterfalls, its twisted rocks, its mild, pensive people. But at last she slipped right down to the darkness at the bottom, where it was icy cold, not burning hot any more.
How long she lay there she knew not. The darkness thinned. Her window was glimmering in the light of dawn. She heard a bird singing, and thought: I’m dying. Somebody should be with me.
She needed nobody. But in a well-ordered household no one is left to die alone. She had done her best, and she had failed. The neighbours would be shocked. Her father, who took the Sacrament to the humblest of his flock, would reproach himself. For his sake she must not die until the morning. She must continue to see the light until they came.
She fixed her eyes on the window. The light grew stronger. Again she heard the sleepy chirping of awakened birds.
The pale square flickered, faded, and was gone for ever.