ort of respect--and
affection--for my pride. May God leave it to me!"

Penzance felt himself curiously exalted; he knew himself unreasoningly
passing through an oddly unpractical, uplifted moment, in whose
impelling he singularly believed.

"You are drawing her and she is drawing you," he said. "Perhaps you drew
each other across seas. You will stand here together and you will tell
her of this--on this very spot."

Mount Dunstan changed his position and laughed roughly, as if to rouse
himself. He threw out his arm in a big, uneasy gesture, taking in the
room.

"Oh, come," he said. "You talk like a seer. Look about you. Look! I am
to bring her here!"

"If it is the primeval thing she will not care. Why should she?"

"She! Bring a life like hers to this! Or perhaps you mean that her own
wealth might make her surroundings becoming--that a man would endure
that?"

"If it is the primeval thing, YOU would not care. You would have
forgotten that you two had ever lived an hour apart."

He spoke with a deep, moved gravity--almost as if he were speaking of
the first Titan building of the earth. Mount Dunstan staring at his
delicate, insistent, elderly face, tried to laugh again--and failed
because the effort seemed actually irreverent. It was a singular
hypnotic moment, indeed. He himself was hypnotised. A flashlight of
new vision blazed before him and left him dumb. He took up his pipe
hurriedly, and with still unsteady fingers began to refill it. When it
was filled he lighted it, and then without a word of answer left the
hearth and began to tramp up and down the room again--out of the dim
light into the shadows, back out of the shadows and into the dim light
again, his brow working and his teeth holding hard his amber mouthpiece.

The morning awakening of a normal healthy human creature should be a
joyous thing. After the soul's long hours of release from the burden of
the body, its long hours spent--one can only say in awe at the mystery
of it, "away, away"--in flight, perhaps, on broad, tireless wings,
beating softly in fair, far skies, breathing pure life, to be brought
back to renew the strength of each dawning day; after these hours of
quiescence of limb and nerve and brain, the morning life returning
should unseal for the body clear eyes of peace at least. In time to
come this will be so, when the soul's wings are stronger, the body more
attuned to infinite law and the race a greater power--but as yet it
ofte