'into 'fade.' Then he shook his head and continued:
From all the far blue hills of heaven
The dews of beauty rain;
Yet unto me no drops are given
To quench the ancient pain.
He scratched out 'ancient' and wrote over the top 'undying.' Then he scratched out 'undying 'and put 'ancient' back in its place. This time Smoke stretched out a long black paw with a velvet end to it and gave the pencil a deliberate dab. Paul either ignored, or did not notice it; but Smoke left the paw thrust forward upon the paper so as to be ready for the next dab.
I know the passion of the night,
Full of all days unborn,—
Full of the yearning of the light
For one undying Morn.
Smoke caught the tip of the pencil with a swift and accurate stroke, and the 'M' of ' Morn' was provided with an irregular tail Paul had not intended. Very quickly, however, without further interruption, he wrote on to the end.
Above the embers of my heart,
Waiting the Living Breath;
The sparks fly listlessly apart—
Then circle to their death.
Dead sparks that gathered ne'er to flame,
Nor felt the kiss of fire!
Dead thoughts that never found the name
To spell their deep desire!
Is then this instrument so poor
That it may never sound
Songs that must pass for evermore
Unuttered and uncrowned?
O soul that fain would'st steal heaven's fire,
Who clipped thy golden wings?
Who made so passionate a lyre,
Then never tuned the strings?
The Winds of Inspiration blow,
Yet pass me ever by;
And songs God taught me long ago,
Lost in the silence—die.
He rose from the table with a gesture of abrupt impatience and read the entire effusion through from beginning to end. First he laughed, then he sighed. He wondered for a moment how it was that so little of his passion had crept into the poor words. He crumpled up the paper and tossed it into the drawer; and then, blowing out the candles, moved over to the big arm-chair and dropped down into it. Again, as he sat there, his thoughts fell to dramatising his mood. He imagined that region within himself where all might come true, and all yearnings find adequate expression. The idea got more and more mingled with the storm. He pictured it to himself with extraordinarily vivid detail.
'There is such a place, such a state,' he murmured, 'and it is, it must be accessible.'
He heard the clock in the stables—or was it the church—strike the quarter before midnight.
As he sat in the big chair, Smoke left the table and curled up again on the mat at his feet.
CHAPTER XIV
Vision or imagination is a representation of what actually exists, really and unchangeably. He who does not imagine in stronger and better lineaments, and in stronger and better light, than his perishing mortal eye can see, does not imagine at all.
—W. B.
It was Smoke who first drew his attention to something near the door by 'padding' slowly across the carpet and staring up at the handle. Paul's eyes, following him, perceived next that the brass knob was silently turning. Then the door opened quickly and on the threshold stood—Nixie. The open door made such a draught that the twenty winds tearing about inside the room almost lifted the mat at his feet. Behind her he saw the shadowy outline of a second figure, which he recognised as Jonah.
'Shut the door—quick!' he said, but they had done so and were already beside him almost before the words were out of his mouth. In spite of the darkness a very faint radiance came with them that he could distinguish their faces plainly; and his amazement on seeing them at all at this late hour was instantly doubled when he perceived further that they were fully dressed for going out. At the same time, however, so deep had he been in his reverie, and so strongly did the excitement of it yet linger in his blood, that he hardly realised how wicked they were to be parading the house at such a time of the night, and that his obvious duty was to bundle them back to bed. In a strange, queer way they almost seemed part of his dream, part of his dramatised mood, part of the region of wonder into which his thoughts had been leading him. Moreover, he felt in some dim fashion that they had come with a purpose of great importance.
'It's awfully late, you know,' he exclaimed under his breath, peering into their faces through the darkness.
'But not too late, if we start at once,' Jonah whispered. For a moment Paul had almost thought that they would melt away and disappear as soon as he spoke to them, or that they would not answer at all. But now this settled it; these were no figures in a dream. He felt their hands upon his arms and neck; the very perfume of Nixie's hair and breath was about him. She was dressed, he noticed, in her red cloak with the hood over her head, and her eyes were popping with excitement. The expression on her face was earnest, almost grave. He saw the faint gleam of the gold buckle where the shiny black belt enclosed her little waist.
'If we start at once, I said,' repeated Jonah in a nervous whisper, pulling at his hand. Paul started to his feet and began fumbling with his black tie, feeling vaguely that either he ought to tie it properly or take it off altogether, and that it was a sort of indecent tinsel to wear at such a time. But he only succeeded in pricking his finger with the pin sticking out of the collar. He felt more than a little bewildered, if the truth were told.
'I'll do that for you,' Nixie said under her breath; and in a twinkling her deft fingers had whipped the strip of satin from his neck.
'You don't want a tie where we're going,' she laughed softly.
'Or a hat either,' added Jonah. 'But I wish you'd hurry, please.'
'I'd better put on another coat or a dressing-gown, or something,' he stammered.
'Coat's best,' Jonah told him, and in a moment he had changed into a tweed Norfolk jacket that lay upon the chair.
They pulled him towards the door, Nixie holding one hand, Jonah the other, and Smoke following so closely at his heels that he almost seemed to be prodding him gently forward with his velvet padded boots. Paul understood that tremendous forces, elemental in character like the wind and rain and lightning, somehow added their immense suasion to the little hands that pulled his own. He made no resistance, but just allowed himself to go; and
