hood and turned once more to the window. Consciousness had
flooded back indeed. What would Sheila have said to see him
there? The unearthly beauty and stillness, and man's small
labours, garden and wall and roof-tree idle and smokeless in the
light of daybreak--there seemed to be some half-told secret
between them. What had life done with him to leave a reality so
clouded? He put on his slippers, and, gently opening the door,
crept with extreme caution up the stairs. At a long, narrow
landing window he confronted a panorama of starry night-gardens,
sloping orchards; and beyond them fields, hills, Orion, the Dogs,
in the clear and cloudless darkness.

'My God, how beautiful!' a voice whispered. And a cock crowed
mistily afar. He stood staring like a child into the wintry
brightness of a pastry-cook's. Then once more he crept stealthily
on. He stooped and listened at a closed door, until he fancied
that above the beating of his own heart he could hear the
breathing of the sleeper within. Then, taking firm hold of the
handle with both hands, he slowly noiselessly turned it, and
peeped in on Alice.

The moon was long past her faint shining here. The blind was
down. And yet it was not pitch dark. He stood with eyes fixed,
waiting. Then he edged softly forward and knelt down beside the
bed. He could hear her breathing now: long, low, quiet,
unhastening--the miracle of life. He could just dimly discern the
darkness of her hair against the pillow. Some long-sealed spring
of tenderness seemed to rise in his heart with a grief and an
ache he had never known before. Here at least he could find a
little peace, a brief pause, however futile and stupid all his