In charnels and on coffins, where black death
Keeps record of the trophies won from thee,
Hoping to still these obstinate questionings
Of thee and thine, by forcing some lone ghost,
Thy messenger, to render up the tale
Of what we are."
The contrast was striking at these times between Peter and his father. For Mr. Paragon every double star resolved was a nail in the coffin of the Established Church; every wonder of the skies, inspected and verified, was a confirmation that society was built on stubble. But for Peter these excursions were food for fancy, the stuff of his dreams. He soared into space, not as Mr. Paragon intended, to discover the fraud of priests and kings, but to voyage with Shelley's Mab through the beautiful stars.
To-night the adventure had lost its edge. Nothing could be more exciting than a transit of Jupiter's third moon. The gradual approach of the tiny moon to the edge of the planet; its momentary extinction; the slow passage of the little shadow on the cloud-bright surface—the loveliness of this miniature play was sharpened for Peter by knowledge of its immensity. Mr. Paragon gave up the telescope to Peter, and waited for breathless exclamation. But Peter was silent.
"Well," said Mr. Paragon, "can't you see it?"
"Yes," answered Peter indifferently.