Page:Weird Tales Volume 36 Number 08 (1942-11).djvu/68
other things he had inherited and forgot about the title. He had been bequeathed money, pride which held his head high, courage and a kindly manner. He had married Constance Martin knowing little, and caring less, about her ancestry. All that concerned him was the plain fact that they were in love.
So Gallien and his bride started eastward through Europe, with no definite destination, simply sliding over the hills and down through the valleys in search of their dream house. For Constance often said to her husband:
"I shall not have any trouble in knowing the house when I see it. When we find it we shall rest there a long time till the remainder of my dream comes true. It is a house in a dark forest and it is as real as the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. I know you are laughing at me, but it is not a wild goose chase. We are seeking an actuality."
As they slowly drove through the country or sat over their meals at little taverns or enjoyed the sunsets at the close of the day, they talked of the dream house and Gallien asked a thousand questions. Was it a house or a castle? How large was it? Was it habitable or just a mass of ruins? Were they really to live there? Was there a library? Fireplaces? Thus, through long conversations they discussed the most important details of their search.
Gallien did not care, so long as he could spend twenty-four joyous hours with Constance; he did not care if the journey never ended, if only she remained contented and happy. On and on, day after day, they went and finally came to a dark forest. There the giant pines rose a hundred feet upward before branching. There was a hush in the air and a peculiar absence of little living things, which made all still and unusually quiet. The ground was covered with a heavy matting of pine needles. In some of the little open spaces thick moss shone softly green against the copper background of the dry spills. Circles of moist ground were ringed round about by toadstools which glowed waxy-white in the dim, uncertain light; on high bare rock shelves fool's gold glittered in the occasional sunbeams.
From the lofty branches of the pines, cones had fallen on the road; these crackled loudly under the tires, but this and the throb of the engine were the only sounds that broke the eerie stillness. The toad crossed over other roads, yet here and there, bunches of wild grass grew in the wagon ruts, showing how old the road was and how seldom used. Gallien throttled the engine down till the car made only a few miles an hour; they drifted rather than rolled; seeming to sail into a dreamland of ethereal beauty. At times an unexpected ray of sunshine illuminated a part of the forest, like light breaking through the multi-tinted windows of a Gothic cathedral, and for a moment the heart paused in its beating with the beauty of it all.
They came at last to a fork in the road. The main road went on down into the valley; the other climbed in tortuous curves, up the mountain. When the woman saw that up-winding road merging into the pines she whispered, as though anxious that no one, save her husband, should hear:
"Let us go that way. What a beautiful road! Where will it take us? What shall we find at its end?"
"I know," replied her husband, as he turned off the main road. "We shall go on and up and on and up, and at the end we shall come to the home of a woodcutter or a charcoal burner and, after much trouble, we will turn around and come down again."
"Let's do that!" she urged enthusiastically.