manoeuvred and massed and charged on the blazing city with a many-hued
shower of flame.

After the boats, silently, softly, floated the battalions of lanterns,
so close to the water that they seemed flaming water-lilies,
while the dusky mirror repeated and inverted their splendor.

"They're shingles, you know," explained Nelson's companion,
"with lanterns on them; but aren't they pretty?"

"Yes, they are! I wish you had not told me. It is like a fairy story!"

"Ain't it? But we aren't through; there's more to come.
Beautiful fireworks!"

The fireworks, however, were slow of coming. They could see
the barge from which they were to be sent; they could watch
the movements of the men in white oil-cloth who moved in a ghostly
fashion about the barge; they could hear the tap of hammers;
but nothing came of it all.

They sat in the darkness, waiting; and there came to Nelson a strange
sensation of being alone and apart from all the breathing world with
this woman. He did not perceive that Tim had quietly returned with a box
which did very well for a seat, and was sitting with his knees against
the chair-rungs. He seemed to be somehow outside of all the tumult
and the spectacle. It was the vainglorying triumph of this world.
He was the soul outside, the soul that had missed its triumph.
In his perplexity and loneliness he felt an overwhelming longing
for sympathy; neither did it strike Nelson, who believed in all sorts