Being a young man who cultivated the habit of observation,
he noticed that Minnie, too, cast scared glances at the window. When the
girl had finally quitted the room, he laughed in a puzzled way.
"Am I dreaming, or are there visions about?" he murmured.
Urged, seemingly, by a sort of curiosity, he surveyed the room a second
time through the same pane of glass. Being tall, he had to stoop
slightly. Within, on the opposite side of the ledge, he saw the tiny
brass candlestick with its inch of candle which he had used over-night
while searching for a volume of Scott in the book-case lining the
neighboring wall. Somehow, this simplest of domestic objects brought a
thrill of recollection.
"Oh, dash it all!" he growled good-humoredly, "I'm getting nervy. I must
chuck this bad habit of working late, and use the blessed hours of
daylight."
Yet, as he sauntered down the lawn toward the stream, he knew well that
he would do nothing of the sort. He loved that time of peace between
ten at night and one in the morning. His thoughts ran vagrom then.
Fantasies took shape under his pen which, in the cold light of morning,
looked unreal and nebulous, though he had the good sense to restrain
criticism within strict limits, and corrected style rather than matter.
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