“Well, how long is it—measured by logic, and not by emotion?” Saxe demanded, somewhat sulkily.
“And, after all,” Billy remarked musingly, “time is only one of the categories of human thought, as Kant pointed out. To me, it seems eons since I was in the great out-of-doors—free, free to live. I judge by reasoning that we have been shut up here for nearly an hour—not quite.”
Before Roy could voice the protest on his lips, a cry came from Saxe:
“Hark! Hark!”
The others held silent, marveling what this might mean. To their ears came the gentle lapping of the waves against the walls of the prison-house, the faint sighs of their own breathing—nothing else. After a long time, Saxe spoke again; and his voice was lifeless, where before it had been vibrant with feeling.
“I must be going mad,” he said, simply. “I thought that I heard—someone—calling my name.”
CHAPTER XXV
TO THE CHIMNEY
AS THEY were lingering over the breakfast table, that same morning, Margaret turned to May with a smile.