He turned to go, but now the people came about him, howling.
"Fool, hound, demented lunatic!" they cried. "How dared you break your
cage and let the birds fly?'
The hunter spoke; but they would not hear him.
"Truth! who is she? Can you eat her? can you drink her? Who has ever seen
her? Your birds were real: all could hear them sing! Oh, fool! vile
reptile! atheist!" they cried, "you pollute the air."
"Come, let us take up stones and stone him," cried some.
"What affair is it of ours?" said others. "Let the idiot go," and went
away. But the rest gathered up stones and mud and threw at him. At last,
when he was bruised and cut, the hunter crept away into the woods. And it
was evening about him.
He wandered on and on, and the shade grew deeper. He was on the borders
now of the land where it is always night. Then he stepped into it, and
there was no light there. With his hands he groped; but each branch as he
touched it broke off, and the earth was covered with cinders. At every step
his foot sank in, and a fine cloud of impalpable ashes flew up into his
face; and it was dark. So he sat down upon a stone and buried his face in
his hands, to wait in the Land of Negation and Denial till the light came.
And it was night in his heart also.
Then from the marshes to his right and left cold mists arose and closed
about him. A fine, imperceptible rain fell in the dark, and great drops
gathered on his hair and clothes.
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