; was liberty truly astir, under that sky in the
west all blood; and man rising at long last from his knees before the God
of force? The silent, empty fields darkened, the air gathered dewy
thickness, and the old 'fly' rumbled and rolled as slow as fate. Cottage
lamps were already lighted for the evening meal. No laborer abroad at
this hour! And Felix thought of Tryst, the tragic fellow--the moving,
lonely figure; emanation of these solitary fields, shade of the departing
land! One might well see him as that boy saw him, silent, dogged, in a
gray light such as this now clinging above the hedgerows and the grass!

The old 'fly' turned into the Becket drive. It had grown dark now, save
for the half-moon; the last chafer was booming by, and a bat flitting, a
little, blind, eager bat, through the quiet trees. He got out to walk
the last few hundred yards. A lovely night, silent below her stars--cool
and dark, spread above field after field, wood on wood, for hundreds of
miles on every side. Night covering his native land. The same silence
had reigned out there, the same perfume stolen up, the same star-shine
fallen, for millions of years in the past, and would for millions of
years to come. Close to where the half-moon floated, a slow, narrow,
white cloud was passing--curiously shaped. At one end of it Felix could
see distinctly the form of a gleaming skull, with dark sky showing
through its eyeholes, cheeks, and mouth. A queer phenomenon;
fascinating, rather ghastly! It grew sharper in outline, more distinct.
One of those sudden shudders, that seize men from the crown of the head
to the very heels, passed down his back. He shut his eyes. And,
instead, there came up before him Kirsteen's blue-clothed figure turned
to the sunset glow. Ah! Better to see that than this skull above the
land! Better to believe her words: 'The world is changing,
Felix--changing!' world is changing, Felix--changing!'

THE END

BEYOND

by JOHN GALSWORTHY

"Che faro senza--!"

To THOMAS HARDY

BEYOND

Part I

I

At the door of St. George's registry office, Charles Clare Winton
strolled forward in the wake of the taxi-cab that was bearing his
daughter away with "the fiddler fellow" she had married. His sense of
decorum forbade his walking with Nurse Betty--the only other witness of
the wedding. A stout woman in a highly emotional condition would have
been an incongruous companion to h