He wanted to watch it grow or fade, to analyze it, to study it, to
be aware of its exact nature. But he did not want to put either Valentine
or Julian upon the alert. So he spoke lightly as he said:
"But I shall soon get the better of my fatigue, even without the usual
medicine. Cresswell, take my advice, give your music a rest. Lock your
piano again for a while. It will be better."
Valentine shut down the lid on the instant, and turned the little key in
the lock.
"Adieu to my companion of many lonely hours!" he said with a half
whimsical pensiveness. Then, as if in joke, he held out his hand with the
key in it, to the doctor.
"Will you take charge of this hostage?" he asked.
"Yes," the doctor replied.
Quite gravely he took the key and put it into his pocket.
And so it was that silence fell round the Saint of Victoria Street.
CHAPTER III
THE FLIGHT OF THE BATS
Julian had resolved to keep his compact with the lady of the feathers. He
had learned partially to understand the curious and beautiful attitude
which her mind had assumed towards him, polluted as it must be by the
terror and working out of her fate, by many dreary actions, and by many
vile imaginings. But although he held to his promise he did not, after
that night of crisis, resume his former career of asceticism tempered by
winds of temptation which could never blow his casement open.
Pages:
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338