'It was,' she said at length, 'but Bourcelles had grown into the universe. It's a fairy-tale, but it's like a great golden fire. It warmed my heart till my whole body seemed all heart, and I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. It makes you see that the whole world is _one_, and that the sun and moon and stars lie in so small and unimportant a thing as, say, Jimbo's mischief, or Monkey's impudence, or Jinny's backwardness and absurdity. All are in sympathy together, as in a network, and to feel sympathy with anything, even the most insignificant, connects you instantly with the Whole. Thought and sympathy _are_ the Universe--they are life.' While Mother paused for breath, her old friend smiled a curious, meaning smile, as though she heard a thing that she had always known. 'And all of us are in the story, and all the things we _think_ are alive and active too, because we have created them. Our thoughts populate the world, flying everywhere to help or hinder others, you see.' The sound of a door opening was heard. Mother got up to go. Shafts of light again seemed to follow her from the figure in the bed. 'Good-night,' she whispered with a full heart, while her thought ran suddenly--'You possess the secret of life and of creation, for suffering has taught it to you, and you have really known it always. But Daddy has put it into words for everybody.' She felt proud as a queen. There were whispered good-nights then in the corridor, for Rogers and her husband were on their way home to bed. 'Your chocolate is getting cold,' said Daddy kindly. 'We thought you would probably stay in there. We're going over now. It's very late,' Rogers added. They said good-night again. She closed and locked the great door of the Citadelle behind them, hearing their steps upon the cobbles in the yard, and for some time afterwards upon the road. But their going away seemed the same as coming nearer. She felt so close to everything that lived. Everything did live. Her heart included all that existed, that ever had existed, that ever could exist. Mother was alive all over. 'I have just been created,' she laughed, and went back into the Den to drink her cup of tepid chocolate. CHAPTER XXVIII See, the busy Pleiades, Sisters to the Hyades, Seven by seven Across the heaven, Light desire With their fire, Working cunningly together in a soft and tireless band, Sweetly linking All our thinking In the Net of Sympathy that brings back Fairyland. _A Voice_. The prophecy of the children that Bourcelles was a difficult place to get away from found its justification next morning, for Rogers slept so heavily that he nearly missed his train. It was six o'clock when he tumbled downstairs, too late for a real breakfast, and only just in time to get his luggage upon the little char that did duty for all transport in this unsophisticated village. The carpenter pulled it for him to the station.