Nycteris passed, more numerous and delicate than those of a thousand
changing moons. A fresh bliss bloomed in her soul with every varying
aspect of infinite nature. Ere long she began to suspect that the new
moon was the old moon, gone out and come in again like herself; also
that, unlike herself, it wasted and grew again; that it was indeed a
live thing, subject like herself to caverns, and keepers, and
solitudes, escaping and shining when it could. Was it a prison like
hers it was shut in? and did it grow dark when the lamp left it? Where
could be the way into it?--With that first she began to look below, as
well as above and around her; and then first noted the tops of the
trees between her and the floor. There were palms with their
red-fingered hands full of fruit; eucalyptus trees crowded with little
boxes of powder-puffs; oleanders with their half-caste roses; and
orange trees with their clouds of young silver stars, and their aged
balls of gold. Her eyes could see colours invisible to ours in the
moonlight, and all these she could distinguish well, though at first
she took them for the shapes and colours of the carpet of the great
room. She longed to get down among them, now she saw they were real
creatures, but she did not know how. She went along the whole length
of the wall to the end that crossed the river, but found no way of
going down. Above the river she stopped to gaze with awe upon the
rushing water. She knew nothing of water but from what she drank and
what she bathed in; and, as the moon shone on the dark, swift stream,
singing lustily as it flowed, she did not doubt the river was alive, a
swift rushing serpent of life, going--out?--whither? And then she
wondered if what was brought into her rooms had been killed that she
might drink it, and have her bath in it.

Once when she stepped out upon the wall, it was into the midst of a
fierce wind. The trees were all roaring. Great clouds were rushing