Far below in the side-street a heavy, slow-trotting horse clattered by. The motors were more and more hushed, even the hell of Broadway subdued. A different set of sounds came home to him, but he did not interpret for the present; their activity playing upon deeps of their own--a bridge swung open between them and his exterior thoughts.... Slowly all exterior matters slipped away--the mother and Davy and Bessie. The bridge between the surface and the deeps swung to, and he heard the sounds that had been thrilling his real being all the time as he sat by the window--the liner whistles that crossed Manhattan from the harbour, the deep-sea bayings which seemed to be calling him home. 7 Bellair must have rested well in a few hours, for he arose early, feeling very fit in and out. For years the man he had seen in the glass when he was alone, had aroused little or no curiosity; a sort of customary forbearance rather. The fact is, he had not looked close for years. This morning as he shaved, something new regarded him from the face, still deeply dark from the open boat. He called it a glint, but would have designated it as something that had to do with power in another. It was fixed--something earned and delivered. Perhaps it was something she had seen. This animated him. It had come from Fleury and the fasting, but most of all from contemplating her face and her nature. Was it the arousing of his own latent will? Was it because he was lifted above Lot & Company? What part of it had come from the anguish of separation? Truly a man must build something if he manages to live against the quickened beat of a hungry heart. The face was very thin, too. He had felt that so often as he used the morning knife, but he saw it now. Thin and dark, and the boy gone altogether.... Bellair smiled. Lot & Company had tried to take the boy. Had they not failed, the man would never have come, but something craven in the place of the boy, something tied to its own death, its soul shielded from the light--a shield of coin-metals.