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Shiel, M. P. (Matthew Phipps), 1865-1947

"The Purple Cloud"

..! the laugh, my good God, of a human soul.
Or it seemed half a laugh, and half a sob: and it passed from me in one
fleeting instant.
Laughs, and sobs, and idiot hallucinations, I had often heard before,
feet walking, sounds behind me: and even as I had heard them, I had
known that they were nothing. But brief as was this impression, it was
yet so thrillingly _real_, that my poor heart received, as it were, the
very shock of death, and I fell backward into a mass of moss, supported
on the right palm, while the left pressed my working bosom; and there,
toiling to catch my breath, I lay still, all my soul focussed into my
ears. But now I could hear no sound, save only the vast and audible hum
of the silence of the universe.

There was, however, the foot-print. If my eye and ear should so
conspire against me, that, I thought, was hard.
Still I lay, still, in that same pose, without a stir, sick and
dry-mouthed, infirm and languishing, with dying breaths: but keen,
keen--and malign.


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