“No,” said David, “I can’t get in. It was so easy once—but now I can’t get in. The silent city of sleep has long, smooth walls—I can’t find the gate; I grope along the wall all night, hour after hour. A hundred times I think I have found the door. Sometimes there is a flashing sword that bars the way, sometimes the wall closes—closes as I pass the threshold. There’s no way in. The walls are smooth—all smooth—you can’t get in.” He spoke, not wildly, but in a low, muttering way. Elizabeth touched his hand. It was very hot. “Come, David,” she said, “it is late.” She drew him to his feet, and he walked uncertainly, and leaned on her shoulder, as they went up the stair. Once in his room, he sank again upon a chair. He let her help him, but when she knelt, and would have unlaced his boots, he roused himself. “No, you are not to,” he said with a sudden anger in his voice, and he took them off, and then let her help him again. When he was in bed, Elizabeth stood by him for a moment. “Are you comfortable?” she asked. “If I could sleep,” he said, only just above his breath. “If I could.” “Oh, but you will,” said Elizabeth. “Don’t be afraid, David. It’s all right.” She set the door into her room ajar and then sat down by the window, and looked out at the night. The blind was up. The night was dark and clear. There were stars, many little glittering points. It was very still. Elizabeth fixed her eyes upon the sky, but after a minute or two she did not see it at all. Her mind was full of David and his need. This tortured, sleepless state of his had no reality. How could it compass and oppress the immortal image of God? Her thought rose into peace. Elizabeth opened her mind to the Divine light. Her will rested. She was conscious only of that radiant peace. It enwrapped her, it enwrapped David. In it they lived and moved and had their being. In it they were real and vital creatures. To lapse from consciousness of it, was to fall upon a formless, baseless dream, wherein were the shadows of evil. These shadows had no reality. Brought to the light, they faded, leaving only that peace—that radiance. Elizabeth’s eyes were opened. She saw the Wings of Peace. And David slept. CHAPTER XV LOVE MUST TO SCHOOL Love must to school to learn his alphabet, His wings are shorn, his eyes are dim and wet. He pores on books that once he knew by heart— Poor, foolish Love, to wander and forget. Elizabeth sat quite motionless for half an hour. Then she stirred, bent her head for a moment, whilst she listened to David’s regular breathing, and then rose to her feet. She passed through the open door into her own room, and undressed in the dark. Then she lay down and slept. Three times during the night she woke and listened. But David still slept. When she woke up for the third time, the room was full of the greyness of the dawn. She got up and closed the door between the two rooms.