From which too soon he awakeneth--

--as Walter himself wrote, not then knowing half that the words meant.
As with the skirt of her mantle the dark wipes out the day, so with her
sleep the night makes a man fresh for the new day's journey. If it were
not for sleep, the world could not go on. To feel the mystery of day and
night, to gaze into the far receding spaces of their marvel, is more
than to know all the combinations of chemistry. A little wonder is worth
tons of knowledge. But to Walter the new day did not come as a call to
new life in the world of will and action, but only as the harbinger of a
bliss borne hitherward on the wind of the world. Was he not going forth
as a Titanic child to become a great man among great men! Who would be
strong among the weak! who would be great among the small! He did not
suspect in himself what Molly saw, or at least suspected in him. When a
man is hopeful, he feels strong, and can work. The thoughts come and the
pen runs. Were he always at his best, what might not a man do! But not
many can determine their moods; and none, be they poets or economists,
can any more secure the conditions of faculty than they can create the
faculty. When the mood changes and hope departs, and the inward
atmosphere is grown damp and dismal, there may be whose imagination will
yet respond to their call; but let some certain kind of illness come,
and every one must lose his power; his creature-condition will assert
itself; he is compelled to discover that we did not create ourselves,
neither live by ourselves.

Walter loved his father, but did not mind leaving him; he loved Molly,
but did not mind leaving her; and we can not blame him if he was glad to
escape from his aunt. If people are not lovable, it takes a saint to
love them, or at least one who is not afraid of them. Yet it was with a
sense of somewhat dreary though welcome liberty, that Walter found