For some time Quincy remained upon the bed. His face was a screen to a bitter battle. Bitterness had the victory. He jumped up and uncovered the dishes on the tray. Roast-beef soaking in gravy, peas and sweet-potatoes, apple-sauce and angel cake. Calmly and slowly he took a dish, moved to the low casement window, opened it, and threw out the contents. And in this gesture he continued, going back and forth, eyes bright with fever, mouth parted with passion,--until all of the food he craved had disappeared into the grey, deep night. * * * * * So Jonas went away to school, and the agony of this period in Quincy’s life set in--the end of the Reign of Jonas. For the most part, it was the feeling of a void; to fill it, the creating of a fancied Jonas. And this, being in its essence art, Quincy discovered to be painful. In his relations with his school-mates, with his sisters, with Marsden, he missed him most. And the Jonas whom he regretted was a bland, kind brother, not reasoned-out but clear through the pleasing memory that he inspired. In brief, Quincy was longing for a brother he himself had invented. And to this creation went little fact beyond the name of Jonas. If this new brother’s face was one with the old, at least his expression was so different as to transfigure it. If his voice was one, the words he spoke had varied even that. Besides, Quincy was happy with his creation. Had Jonas never returned, never shown his real face, his real spirit, doubtless Quincy would have prospered with his auspicious figment. And though life had turmoiled him in a dozen other ways, he would still have clung close to his dream, derived from it sustenance and so hewn out an indomitable faith. For no actual occurrence could have attained to splinter it. Jonas alone was so empowered.