Very tired and worn his old figure looked; as some lean horse, whose sun has set, stands with drooped head, the hollows in his neck showing under his straggling mane. And suddenly, evidently quite oblivious that he had any audience, he spoke:
“O Great Universe, I am an old man of a faint spirit, with no singleness of purpose. Help me to write on—help me to write a book such as the world has never seen!”
A dead silence followed that strange prayer; then Bianca, with tears rolling down her face, got up and rushed out of the room.
Mr. Stone came to himself. His mute, white face had suddenly grown scared and pink. He looked at Hilary.
“I fear that I forgot myself. Have I said anything peculiar?”
Not feeling certain of his voice, Hilary shook his head, and he, too, moved towards the door.
CHAPTER XXIV
SHADOWLAND
“Each of us has a shadow in those places—in those streets.”