by H G Wells

I

One confidential evening, not three , Lionel Wallace told me this story Door Wall And that as concerned true story

it me direct simplicity of conviction that do otherwise than believe in him But morning, in my own flat, I woke to different atmosphere, and as I lay in bed and recalled the things he had told me, stripped glamour earnest slow voice, denuded focussed, shaded table light, the shadowy atmosphere that wrapped about him and me, pleasant bright things, the dessert and glasses and napery dinner we had shared, making them bright little world quite cut off from everyday realities, it all as frankly incredible " mystifying ! " , and then: "How well it ! . It isn't quite the thing expected him, of all people, well "

Afterwards as I sat up in bed and sipped my morning tea, myself trying to account flavour of reality that perplexed me impossible reminiscences, by supposing in some way suggest, present, convey--I hardly know which word to use--experiences otherwise impossible

Well, I don't resort explanation now got over my intervening doubts I believe now, as I believed moment of telling, that Wallace did very best ability strip the truth secret But whether he himself saw, or only thought , whether he himself possessor of an inestimable privilege or the victim of fantastic dream, pretend to guess Even the facts death, which ended my doubts for ever, throw no light

That much the reader must judge for himself

I forget now what chance comment or criticism moved so reticent man to confide in me , , defending himself against an imputation of slackness and unreliability I had made to great public movement, he had disappointed me But he plunged suddenly " ," , "a preoccupation----

" ," he went on, after pause, " negligent The fact is-- it isn't case of ghosts or apparitions--but--it's an odd thing of, Redmond-- haunted haunted by something--that rather takes the light out of things, that fills me with longings . "

He paused, checked English shyness that so often overcomes us when speak of moving or grave or beautiful things "You were at Saint Aethelstan's all through," , and for moment that seemed quite irrelevant "Well"--and he paused Then very haltingly at first, but afterwards more easily, he began thing that was hidden life, the haunting memory of beauty and happiness that filled his heart with insatiable longings, that made all the interests and spectacle of worldly life seem dull and tedious and vain to him

Now that the clue , the thing seems written visibly face photograph that look of detachment caught and intensified It reminds me of what woman once said of him--a woman who had loved him greatly "Suddenly," she said, "the interest goes out of him He forgets you He doesn't care rap --under his very nose . "

Yet the interest was not always out of him, and when holding his attention to thing Wallace could contrive an extremely successful man His career, indeed, is set with successes He left me behind him : he soared up over my head, and cut figure that I couldn't cut--anyhow still year short of forty, say now that he in office and very probably new Cabinet if he had lived At school he always beat me without effort--as it were by nature We were at school together at Saint Aethelstan's College in West Kensington for almost all our school-time school as my coequal, but he left far above me, in blaze of scholarships and brilliant performance Yet fair average running And at school I heard first "Door Wall"--that to hear of second time only month before his death

To him the Door Wall was real door, leading through real wall to immortal realities now quite assured

And it came into his life quite early, when little fellow between five and six I remember how, as he sat making his confession with slow gravity, he reasoned and reckoned the date of it " ," , "a crimson Virginia creeper --all one bright uniform crimson, in clear amber sunshine against white wall That came impression somehow, though I don't clearly remember how, and there were horse-chestnut leaves clean pavement outside the green door They were blotched yellow and green, , not brown nor dirty, been new fallen I take it that means October I look out for horse-chestnut leaves every year and I ought

"If I'm right , about five years and four months old "

, , rather precocious little boy--he learnt at an abnormally early age, and so sane and "old-fashioned," as people say, that permitted an amount of initiative that most children scarcely attain by seven or eight His mother died when two, and under the less vigilant and authoritative care of nursery governess His father was stern, preoccupied lawyer, who gave him little attention, and expected great things of him For all his brightness life little grey and dull, And one day he wandered

recall the particular neglect that enabled him away, nor the course West Kensington roads All that had faded incurable blurs of memory But the white wall green door stood out quite distinctly

As his memory childish experience ran, very first sight door experience peculiar emotion, an attraction, desire door and open it and walk in And same time he had the clearest conviction that either unwise or wrong of him-- tell which--to yield attraction He insisted upon it as curious thing that very beginning--unless memory has played him the queerest trick-- door was unfastened, go in as he chose

I seem the figure little boy, drawn and repelled And very clear mind, too, though why it so was never explained, that his father very angry if he went in door

Wallace described all these moments of hesitation utmost particularity He went right past the door, and then, hands pockets and making an infantile attempt to whistle, strolled right along beyond the end wall There he recalls number of mean dirty shops, and particularly that of plumber and decorator with dusty disorder of earthenware pipes, sheet lead, ball taps, pattern books of wall paper, and tins of enamel He stood pretending to examine these things, and coveting_, passionately desiring, the green door

Then, , he had gust of emotion run , lest hesitation should grip him again; he went plump with outstretched hand green door and let it slam behind him And so, in trice, garden that has haunted all his life

very difficult for Wallace his full sense garden into which

something very air of it that exhilarated, that gave one sense of lightness and good happening and well-being; something sight of it that made all its colour clean and perfect and subtly luminous instant of coming one was exquisitely glad--as only in rare moments, and when one is young and joyful one can world And everything was beautiful there .

Wallace mused before he went on telling me " ," , doubtful inflection of man who pauses at incredible things, "there were two great panthers there . Yes, spotted panthers And not afraid long wide path with marble-edged flower borders on either side, and these two huge velvety beasts were playing there with ball One looked up and came towards me, little curious as it seemed It came right up , rubbed its soft round ear very gently against the small hand I held out, and purred , I tell you, an enchanted garden size ? Oh ! it stretched far and wide, I believe there were hills far away Heaven knows where West Kensington had suddenly got to And somehow just like coming home