Night interpreted to me
All its grace and mystery.’”
“Did it?—did it?” cried he.
“Well, in some degree it did. I read them by daylight, when I confess I thought your time might have been better spent in almost any harmless thing than in writing them. After tea I remembered how many of my own young attempts, of one sort and another, had demanded far more indulgence. So then I read them again, and not only liked them better, but liked some of them very well—very much. I do not think, however, that your verses will sell. Here, now, is a stanza you must explain to me:—
“‘Overcome with trouble deep,
Rest, too restless to be sleep,
While these sorrows did combine,
An angel’s face looked into mine.’
Now, what did you mean by that?”
“That I shall never divulge,” said Harry, folding his arms.