It interests me. Send me to sleep, too, if you can,
Cresswell."
"I will," Valentine answered, lightly. "Come."
The doctor saw him standing for a moment in the light, with a glory
of power and of triumph upon his face, and remembered that glory, even
seemed to see it, a clear vision, when darkness filled the room.
Out of the darkness came the murmur of a voice.
"The last sitting," it said.
Julian was the speaker. Nobody replied. Silence followed. As before,
the doctor sat between Julian and Valentine and touched their hands. As
before, the darkness, and this mutual act in it, developed in him the
faculty of hearing, or of thinking he heard, the voices of the thoughts
of his companions. So far this night echoed the last night of the year.
Would it echo that night farther still to the ultimate notes of this
music of minds? The doctor wondered. He was soon to know.
Once again the notes of Valentine's Litany stole upon his heart. And
to-night they seemed to him louder, more strident than before, as if
blared from a soul that held a veritable brass band of shrill egoism
within it. The doctor listened. He remembered presently that the former
Litany had been broken sometimes, hesitating, that Valentine had been
assailed by vague fears that stole upon him like ghosts from the lady of
the feathers.
Pages:
723
724
725
726
727
728
729
730
731
732
733
734
735
736
737
738
739
740
741
742
743
744
745
746
747