_ Up a dimension."
"What are these forms?"
"I am dreaming the new eye, the new ear, the new hand."
Glenfernie watched the moving and the resting hand. Later in the day
he returned to the room.
"It has been a fertile season," said the artist. "Look!"
At the top of a sheet of paper was written large in Latin, LOVE IS
BLIND. Beneath stood a figure filled with eyes. "It is the same
thing," said the man.
The next day, at sunset, going up to his room after restless wandering
in this city, he found there from Ian another intimation of the
latter's movements:
GLENFERNIE,--I am going northward. There will be a
month spent at monseigneur's villa upon the Lake of Como.
Then France again.--IAN RULLOCK.
Alexander laid the paper upon the table before him, and now he stared
at it, and now he gazed at space beyond, and where he gazed seemed
dark and empty. It was deep night when finally he dipped quill into
ink and wrote:
IAN RULLOCK,--Stay or go as you will! I do not
follow you now as I did before. I come to see the crudeness,
the barrenness, of that. But within--oh, are you not my
enemy still? I ask Justice that, and what can she do but
echo back my words? "Within" is a universe.--ALEXANDER
JARDINE.
Five days later he knew that Ian with the Frenchman in whose company
he was had departed Rome.
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