ese ringing notes were traversing their past that otherwise
might have stayed forever unvoyageable.

Michael sometimes craved for Lily's company, wished that he could clasp
her to him and swoon away upon these blinding chords. But she was
banished from this world of music, she who had betrayed the beauty of
love. There was something more noble in this music than the memory of a
slim and lovely girl and of her flower-soft kisses. The world itself
surely seemed to travel the faster for this urgent symphony. Michael was
spinning face to face with the spinning stars.

And then some thread of simple melody would bring him back to the green
world and die little memories of his boyhood. Now more than ever did it
seem worth while to live on earth. He recognized, as if suddenly he had
come down from incredible heights, familiar faces in the audience. He
saw his mother with Mrs. Ross beside her, two figures that amid all this
intoxication of speeding life must forever mourn. Now while the flood
of music was sounding in his ears, he wished that he could fly down
through this dim hall, and tell them, as they sat there in black with
memories beside them, how well he loved them, how much he honoured them,
how eagerly he demanded from them pride in himself.

After the first emotions of the mighty music had worn themselves out,
Michael's imagination began to wander rapidly. At one point the bassoons
became very active, and he was somehow reminded of Mr. Neech. He was
puzzled for awhile to account for this association of an old form-master
with the noise of bassoons. '_For he heard the loud bassoon_.' Out of
the past came the vision of old Neech wagging the tail of his gown as he
strode backward and forwards over the floor of the Shell class-room.
'_The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast, For he heard the loud
bassoon_.' Out of the past came the shrill sound of boys ruining The
Ancient Mariner, and Michael heard again the outraged apostrophes of Mr.
Neech. He began to create from his fancy of Mr. Neech a grotesque symbol
of public-school education. Certainly he was the only master who had
taught him anything. Yet he had probably tried less earnestly to teach
than any other masters. Why did this image of Mr. Neech materialize
whenever his thoughts went back to school? Years had passed since he had
enjoyed the Shell. He had never talked intimately to Neech; indeed, he
had scarcely held any communication with him since he left his form. T