still; but beyond and above these strange forms and
pictured fancies, I now discern a deeper mystery of thought; not pure
and abstract thought, flashes of insight, comforting grace, kindled
desires, but rather that more complex thought that, through a
perception of strange forms, a waving robe of scarlet, a pavement
bright with jewels, a burning star, a bird of sombre plumage, a dark
grove, breathes a subtle insight, like a strain of unearthly music,
interpreting the hopes and fears of the heart by haunted glimpses and
obscure signs. I do not know in what shadowy region of the soul these
things draw near, but it is in a region which is distinct and apart, a
region where the dreaming mind projects upon the dark its dimly-woven
visions; a region where it is not wise to wander too eagerly and
carelessly, but into which one may look warily and intently at seasons,
standing upon the dizzy edge of time, and gazing out beyond the flaming
ramparts of the world.

XXXII

The Statue

I saw a strange and moving thing to-day. I went with a friend to visit
a great house in the neighbourhood. The owner was away, but my friend
enjoyed the right of leisurely access to the place, and we thought we
would take the opportunity of seeing it.

We entered at the lodge, and walked through the old deer-park with its
huge knotted oaks, its wide expanse of grass. The deer were feeding
quietly in a long herd. The great house itself came in sight, with its
portico and pavilions staring at us, so it seemed, blankly and
seriously, with shuttered eyes. The whole place unutterably still and
deserted, like a house seen in a dream.

There was one particular thing that we came to visit; we left the house
on the left, and turned through a little iron gate into a thick grove
of trees. We soon became aware that there was open ground before us,
and presently we came to a space in the heart of the wood, where there
was a silent pool all overgrown with water-lilies; the bushes grew
thickly round the edge. The pool was full of water-birds, coots, and
moor-hens, sailing aimlessly about, and uttering strange, melancholy
cries at intervals. On the edge of the water stood a small marble
temple, streaked and stained by the weather. As we approached it, my
friend told me something of the builder of the little shrine. He was a
former owner of the place, a singular man, who in his later days had
lived a very solitary life here. He was a man of wi