"Ah, there is no mood of Nature," he cried, "which I do not love. This hot, soaking rain falling windlessly, which other people find so depressing, is so wonderful. The earth lies beneath it, drinking like a child at its mother's breast. The trees stand with drooping leaves, relaxing themselves, making no effort, just drinking, recuperating. The moths and winged things creep close into crevices in their bark--I saw a dozen such to-day--or cling to the underside of the leaves, where they are dry and cool. Everything is sleeping to-day, and to watch the earth sleep is like watching a child sleep: however lovely and winsome it is when it is awake, yet its sleep is even more beautiful. There is not a wrinkle on its face: it is as young as love, and with closed eyes and mouth half-open it rests." Philip was looking at him with a sort of dumb envy, which at length found voice. "I would give all I have for just one day of your life," he said, pushing back his plate and putting his elbows on the table, a characteristic movement when he wanted to talk, as Merivale knew. "Ah, my dear fellow," he cried, "it is something very substantial gained already, if you wish that. To want to be happy is a very sensible step towards it." "It is true that a fortnight ago I don't think I even wanted to be happy," said Philip. "I know. But you have made the first step. Also, I can say it now, you look very much better than when you came." "I am not more happy," said Philip. "No, but you conceive it distantly possible that one day you may be. That has only just begun to occur to you." Philip established his elbows more firmly yet. "You are a living miracle, Tom!" he said. "I believe you are happier than any man on this earth has ever been, since, at any rate, man began to grow complicated and want things. You want nothing, I suppose, do you? And is it that which has made you a boy again, while wanting and not getting, and being robbed of what was mine, has made an old man of me?" Tom smiled, showing his white even teeth. "Ah, I want," he said, "I want passionately, but I feel sure I shall get what I want. It is the old story, I have told it you before: what I want is the full realisation of the oneness of all life, and of the joy that pervades everything." "What would I not give to realise one millionth-part of that?" said Philip. He paused a moment and then broke out suddenly.