but I do know that sometime you will be happy again,
with the things, the coloured shells, so to speak, that you find still
when all the winds and storms have done their worst and all your cargoes
are broken wrecks at your feet. It will be then, in that last emptiness,
that you'll come to terms with disaster, and play the fool again to amuse
yourself and the other derelicts, because, when there's nothing else
left, there's always laughter."

Rodney had walked to the window, and now stood looking out at the dim,
luminous night, wherein, shrouded, the Easter moon dwelt in the heart of
shadows. From many churches, many clocks chimed the hour. Rodney spoke
once more, slowly, leaning out into the shadowy night.

"Through this week," he said, "they have been watching in those churches
a supreme renouncement, the ultimate agony of giving up, the last triumph
of utter loss. I'm not going to talk about that; it's not my business or
my right ... But it surely counts, that giving up whatever we may or may
not believe about it. It shines, a terrible counsel of perfection for
those who have, burning and hurting. But for those who have not, it
doesn't burn and hurt; it shines to cheer and comfort; it is the banner
of the leader of the losing legion, lifted up that the rest may follow
after. Does that help at all?... Perhaps at this moment nothing helps at
all.... Have I said enough? Need I go on?"

Peter's voice, flat and dead, spoke out of the shadow of the dim room.

"You have said enough. You need not go on."

Then Rodney turned and saw him, sitting still on the floor by the
half-packed bag, with the yellow dog sleeping against him. In the dim
light his face looked pale and pinched like a dead man's.

"You've done your work," the flat voice said. "You've taken it away--the
new life we so wanted. You've shown that it can't be. You're quite right.
And you're right too that nothing helps at all.... Because of Denis, I
can't do this. But I find no good in emptiness; why should I? I want to
have things and enjoy them, at this moment, more desperately than you,
who praise emptiness and doing without, ever wanted anything."

"I am aware of that," said Rodney.

"You've got in the way," said Peter, looking up at the tall gaunt figure
by the window; and anger shook him. "You've stepped in and spoilt it all.
Yes, you needn't be afraid; you've spoilt it quite irrevocably. You knew
that to mention Denis was enough to do that. I was try