down into comfort he saw his Friend, huge, a great shadow, mingling with
the coloured lights of the flaming sky. All the world was lit, the white
room glowed. A pleasant smell was in his nostrils.

"Where are all the others? They would like to share this pleasant
moment, and I would warn them about the unpleasant ones."

"They are coming, some of them. I am with them as I am with you."
Swinging across the Square were the evening bells of St. Matthew's.

Henry Fitzgeorge smiled, then chuckled, then dozed into a pleasant
sleep.


IV

Asleep, awake, it had been for the most part the same to him. He swung
easily, lazily upon the clouds; warmth and light surrounded him; a part
of him, his toes, perhaps, would be suddenly cold, then he would cry, or
he would strike his head against the side of his cot and it would hurt,
and so then he would cry again. But these tears would not be tears of
grief, but simply declarations of astonishment and wonder.

He did not, of course, realise that as, very slowly, very gradually he
began to understand the terms and conditions of his new life, so with
the same gradation, his Friend was expressed in those terms. Slowly that
great shadow filled the room, took on human shape, until at last it
would be only thus that he would appear. But Henry would not realise the
change, soon he would not know that it had ever been otherwise. Dimly,
out of chaos, the world was being made for him. There a square of