The hand fell from his bridle, and he moved out of the shaft of light into the darkness, with exultation of a kind in his heart. He was free—going away from intolerable strain into mere danger. And he had just dealt Gilbert a thrust which had told. “He will think of that presently when he hears that I have been arrested, as I most probably shall be.” And then, quite suddenly, half way down the avenue, between the shadowy tree trunks, he dropped the reins and covered his face with his hands. . . . A moment, perhaps, he sat thus motionless—for Saladin, perplexed, had stopped of his own accord—then, throwing back his head defiantly, he went forward under the naked black boughs, between which there still dangled, low down, the sword of Orion. CHAPTER XXXVI SURGERY: THE KNIFE “From child to youth; from youth to arduous man; From lethargy to fever of the heart; From faithful life to dream-dowered days apart; From trust to doubt; from doubt to brink of ban;— Thus much of change in one swift cycle ran Till now. Alas, the soul!—how soon must she Accept her primal immortality, The flesh resume its dust whence it began? “O Lord of work and peace! O Lord of life! O Lord, the awful Lord of will! though late, Even yet renew this soul with duteous breath. That when the peace is garnered in from strife, The work retrieved, the will regenerate, This soul may see thy face, O Lord of death!” —D. G. ROSSETTI, _The Heart of the Night_. The solid library windows rattled under the onslaught of the gale; rain streamed on to them furiously, then ceased as abruptly; torn twigs dashed against the panes, and the frenzied wind seemed to be concentrating on the glass all its attempts to get into the room, though now and again a puff of smoke, bellying slowly forward, testified to a successful entrance by the chimney. There are occasions when the elements are not at variance with the mood of the individual. The whirling wind, its noisy but useless attack, was not, apparently, unpleasing to M. des Graves as he sat at the long table in the library and looked out into its manifestations. There was a little colour in his cheeks; his lips were pressed together, his eyes very steady, and he beat gently upon the table with his pen. It was as if there sat in his familiar chair a rather different man, much younger, more alert, with a new poise of the head, who seemed to be enjoying the storm.