I went from one thing to another, touching it; and everything was real and responded to my touch. I walked the whole long length of the room, I was in no cell. I felt the steady light within the room. It was no passing flicker, no dying gleam. Then, unable to remain within, I went out and down the staircase. Slowly I walked back and forwards through the long hall, fighting the grimmest fight that spirits have to fight, that of retaining clear existence. How long I walked thus I cannot tell, but when I roused myself I found that night had fallen and the lights shone from the roof. Looking towards the staircase I saw Vestné descending.
She was dressed more beautifully than I had ever seen her, and looked more brilliant than ever before.
“I am sorry you cannot come with me, I like company,” she murmured.
“I am sorry too,” I rejoined.
“If you care to wear a decent suit you may come,” she went on.
I glanced at the simple robe I was wearing. “Thank you,” I replied. “So long as I stay here this shall suffice me. It is my own, and that is everything.”
“But this is a very brilliant entertainment to which I am going to-night. Come.”
“I think,” I observed, “you have shown me enough for one day. You will excuse me.”
At this she left me, and I sat down and tried to read. I had taken Milton’s Paradise Lost, but somehow or other to-night it struck me as the most tawdry, unreal thing I ever read. The beauty of its diction, the stately flow of language, the marvellous knowledge of the writer on all points except one, irritated rather than soothed me. Despite this I still continued reading, till, more than usually irritated with his appreciation of the Godhead, I flung the book down, laughing involuntarily.
What was my surprise on looking up to see Plucritus standing at some little distance watching me.