He paid no attention to the sob in her voice, and in tones as cool and passionless as if there were no such things as sorrow and unhappiness in the world, he pointed out some of the constellations to her. In a short time they were beyond the outlying houses of the city, and with lagging steps and upturned faces passed slowly along a snowy road, from which they had an extended and uninterrupted view of the blue sky spread above them, where countless stars shone and sparkled like priceless jewels, set far above the unworthy earth below.
“I used to devote a good deal of my time to the study of the heavens,” said Mr. Armour, when they stepped slowly under the murmuring pines of the avenue, and their view of the sky was shut off. “I still have a telescope in the cupola, and occasionally I go up. Do you ever hear me?”
Yes; she had heard his heavy step passing her door, often late at night, and had surmised that the strange, self-contained man, who was such an enigma himself, was about to engage in a study of the mysteries of the celestial bodies.
“Star-gazing ruined Palinurus,” interposed Camperdown, who came rolling up to the broad stone doorstep, looking like one of the good-natured men-of-war sailors who are so frequently seen about the streets of Halifax.
He had evidently caught some scraps of their conversation, for he went on: “See the Æneid, Book V., line something or other. Palinurus directed his eyes to the stars; the god shook over him a branch dripping with Lethean dew; and rendered sleepy by Stygian power, over he went into the clear waters. Poor Palinurus.”
“What is the matter with Camperdown this evening,” said Armour, addressing Stargarde, who at that moment came sauntering out from under the pines.
“I don’t know,” she returned, glancing uneasily at the subject of their remarks. “I never saw him like this before. His tongue rattled so fast that I had to send him on ahead in order that I might enjoy the quiet beauty of this evening.”
“Hear a parable, O friends,” said Camperdown, without raising his eyes, and scraping the snow about with his foot. “Once a certain man sat under a plum tree, where he looked and longed exceedingly for a beautiful young plum that hung just over him. The plum grew and ripened, but being the most obstinate plum that ever lived, would not fall into the man’s mouth. One day being weak with impatience and with waiting for the plum, he opened his mouth to yawn, when straightway the plum fell into his mouth and choked him——”
“So that he never spoke again,” said Stargarde, with a stifled laugh.
“No,” said Camperdown, lifting his eyes and surveying her with preternatural gravity; “loosened his tongue and gave him an unwonted flow of language.”