host of memories crowded the room, he was filled with a regret more
poignant than anything that he had felt since her death.

"She _was_ fine! I miss her more than I had any notion that I would! She
stirred one up, she made one alive!"

He put the lamp upon the floor and sat down for a minute amongst the
shrouded furniture.

His mind passed from Brun's generalizations to the little bundle of
people whom he knew--Rachel, Francis, Roddy, Lizzie Rand. To all of them
the Tiger's moment had come; and out of it all, out of the stress and
suffering and struggle, Rachel's child was to be born--instead of the
Duchess the new generation. Instead of this old house, the hooded
furniture, the anger at all freedom of thought, the jealousy of all
enterprise, the slander and the malice, an age of a universal
Brotherhood, of unselfishness, restraint, charity, tolerance ...

Perhaps after all, he _was_ an old, sentimental fool. There had always
been those at every birth and every death who had had their dreams of
new human nature, new worlds, new virtues and moralities....

He looked his last at the Portrait--

"I'm nearly as old as you. I shall go soon. But I miss you ... you'd be
yourself surprised if you knew how much!"

He took up the lamp and left her.... He said good night to Mrs. Newton
and closed the door behind him.

Standing on the steps of the house he looked about him. Portland Place
was like a broad river running silently into the dark trees at the end
of it. There was a great rest and quiet here.

Southwards the sky flamed, the noise of a great multitude of people came
muffled across space with the rhythm in it of a beating song. Rockets
slashed the sky, broke into golden stars; the bells from all the
churches in the town clashed and, from some great distance, guns
solemnly booming rolled through the air.

Christopher, standing there, smiled as he thought of Brun's little
picture.

Brun springing up, of course, at the right moment, to point his moral.
Brun, who appeared, like some Jack-in-the-box, in city after city, with
his conclusion, his prophecy, neat and prepared.

"And we'll have fires out of the Grand Duke's Wood..."

There was the Wood, there the mob, there the Grand Duke, dead and
buried--

Christopher shrugged his shoulders; whatever Brun might say human beings
were more than summaries, prophecies, conclusions.

As he looked towards the trees and felt a little breeze caress his face
with, he c