They put the fire out and walked home arm in arm,
separating with hushed good-nights in the courtyard of the Citadelle.
But Rogers did not hear the scolding Mother gave them when they
appeared at the Den door, for he went on at once to his own room in
the carpenter's house, with the feeling that he had lived always in
Bourcelles, and would never leave it again. His Scheme had moved
bodily from London to the forest.
And on the way upstairs he peeped a moment into his cousin's room,
seeing a light beneath the door. The author was sitting beside the
open window with the lamp behind him and a note-book on his knees.
Moonlight fell upon his face. He was sound asleep.
'I won't wake him,' thought his cousin, going out softly again. 'He's
dreaming--dreaming of his wonderful new story probably.'
CHAPTER XXII
Even as a luminous haze links star to star,
I would supply all chasms with music, breathing
Mysterious motions of the soul, no way
To be defined save in strange melodies.
_Paracelsus_, R. BROWNING.
Daddy's story, meanwhile, continued to develop itself with wonder and
enthusiasm. It was unlike anything he had ever written. His other
studies had the brilliance of dead precious stones, perhaps, but this
thing moved along with a rushing life of its own.
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