and rather in contrast with his sinister and swarthy visage, which
was now invisible. "Perhaps you don't know how terrible a truth that
is. All you see are pictures made by the sun, faces and furniture
and flowers and trees. The things themselves may be quite strange to
you. Something else may be standing now where you saw a table or a
chair. The face of your friend may be quite different in the dark."

A short, indescribable noise broke the stillness. Twyford started
for a second, and then said, sharply:

"Really, I don't think it's a suitable occasion for trying to
frighten a child."

"Who's a child?" cried the indignant Summers, with a voice that had
a crow, but also something of a crack in it. "And who's a funk,
either? Not me."

"I will be silent, then," said the other voice out of the darkness.
"But silence also makes and unmakes."

The required silence remained unbroken for a long time until at last
the clergyman said to Symon in a low voice:

"I suppose it's all right about air?"

"Oh, yes," replied the other aloud; "there's a fireplace and a
chimney in the office just by the door."

A bound and the noise of a falling chair told them that the
irrepressible rising generation had once more thrown itself across