There was something so statue-like in this immovable wild
creature that Fleda had watched it till it was hid from her view by a
jutting rock. But the thing which made a lasting impression, drawing her
nearer to nature-life than all that had chanced since she was born, was
the fact that on returning, hours after, the wild ass was still standing
upon the summit of the hill, still gazing across the valley. Or was it
gazing across the valley? Was there some other vision commanding its
sight?
So a young wife not yet a mother loses herself for hours together in a
vista of unexplored experience. Fleda had passed on, out of sight of the
wild ass on the hills, but for ever after the memory of it remained with
her and the picture of it sprang to her eye innumerable times. The
hypnotized wild thing--hypnotized by its own vague instincts, or by
something outside itself-became to her as the Sphinx to the Egyptian, the
everlasting question of existence.
Now, as she watched the day fleeing, and night with swift stealthiness
coming on, that unforgettable picture of the Roumanian hills came to her
again. The instinct of those far-off days which had been little removed
from the finest animal intelligence had now developed into thought.
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