He returned to the teasing.
"If he doesn't take me, I'm going to run away. You won't want ever to see me any more. And then nobody will ever know what becomes of me because I couldn't sing."
She strained him again to herself and murmured over him:
"My chorister! My minstrel! My life!"
"Good night and pleasant dreams!" he said, with his arms around her neck finally. "Good night and sweet sleep!"
Everything was quiet. She had tipped to his bedside and stood looking at him after slumber had carried him away from her, a little distance away.
"My heavenly guest!" she murmured. "My guest from the singing stars of God!"
Though worn out with the strain and excitements of the day, she was not yet ready for sleep. She must have the luxuries of consciousness; she must tread the roomy spaces of reflection and be soothed in their largeness. And so she had gone to her windows and had remained there for a long time looking out upon the night.
The street beneath was dimly lighted. Traffic had almost ceased. Now and then a car sped past. The thoroughfare along here is level and broad and smooth, and being skirted on one side by the park, it offers to speeding vehicles the illusive freedom of a country road. Across the street at the foot of the park a few lights gleamed scant amid the April foliage. She began at the foot of the hill and followed the line of them upward, upward over the face of the rock, leading this way and that way, but always upward. There on the height in the darkness loomed the cathedral.