ions of men now cold. The thought of all those lapsed winters and
lives soothed him; the clamour of living seemed to retreat, to leave him
in a grey tranquillity. His head sank forward, and his narrow, dark
hands rested in absolute immobility on the arms of his chair. He roused
suddenly to discover that Mariana had gone up, and that there were only
some fitful, rosy embers of fire left. In November it had been his
custom to go into town for the winter; and it was time for him to make
such arrangement; but, all at once, he was overwhelmingly reluctant to
face the change, the stir, of moving. The city seemed intolerably noisy,
oppressive; the thought of the hurrying, indifferent crowds disconcerted
him. At Shadrach it was quiet, familiar, spacious. He had had enough of
excursions, strange faces, problems.... He would speak to Rudolph. Stay.

XXX

The countryside, it appeared to Howat Penny, flamed with autumn and
faded in a day. Throughout the night he heard the crisp sliding of dead
leaves over the roof, the lash of the wind swung impotently about the
rectangular, stone block of his dwelling. At the closing of shutters the
December gales only penetrated to him in a thin, distant complaint. The
burning hickory curtained the middle room with a ruddy warmth. It was a
period of extreme peace; he slept for long hours in a deep chair, or sat
lost in a simulation of sleep, living again in the past. The present was
increasingly immaterial, unimportant; old controversies occupied him,
long since stilled; and among the memories of opera, of Eames as a
splendid girl, forgotten roles, were other, vaguer associations,
impressions which seemed to linger from actual happenings, but
persistently evaded definition. At times, his eyes closed, the glow of
his fireplace burned hotter, more lurid, and was filled with faintly
clamorous sounds; at times there was, woven through his half-wakeful
dreaming, a monotonous beat ... such as the fall of a hammer. He saw,
too, strange and yet familiar faces--a girl in silk like an extravagant
tea rose; a countenance seamed and glistening with pain floated in
shadow; and then another mocked and mocked him. Once he heard the
drumming of rain, close above; and the illusion was so strong that he
made his way to the door; a black void was glistening with cold and
relentless stars.... Now he was standing by a dark, hurrying river,
nothing else was visible; and yet he was thrilled by a sense of utter