He took me with him up to his room. A gas flame burned in the laboratory, paper lay about, he appeared to have been working.
“Sit down,” he invited, “you must be tired, it was a terrible storm; it’s evident, you were overtaken by it. Tea is coming at once.”
“Something is the matter to-day,” I began hesitatingly, “it can’t only be that bit of a storm.”
He looked at me penetratingly.
“Have you seen anything?”
“Yes. I saw a picture clearly in the clouds, for an instant.”
“What sort of a picture?”
“It was a bird.”
“The hawk? Was it that? The bird of your dream?”
“Yes, it was my hawk. It was yellow and of giant size, it flew up into the blue-black heaven.”