But we," said the
stars, "are as old as the Unknown."
He leaned his chin against the palm of his hand and looked up at them. So
long he sat there that bright stars set and new ones rose, and yet he sat
on.
Then at last he stood up, and began to loosen the riem from the gable.
What did it matter about the books? The lust and the desire for them had
died out. If they pleased to keep them from him they might. What matter?
it was a very little thing. Why hate, and struggle, and fight? Let it be
as it would.
He twisted the riem round his arm and walked back along the ridge of the
house.
By this time Bonaparte Blenkins had finished his dream of Trana, and as he
turned himself round for a fresh doze he heard the steps descending the
ladder. His first impulse was to draw the blanket over his head and his
legs under him, and to shout; but recollecting that the door was locked and
the window carefully bolted, he allowed his head slowly to crop out among
the blankets, and listened intently. Whosoever it might be, there was no
danger of their getting at him; so he clambered out of bed, and going on
tiptoe to the door, applied his eye to the keyhole. There was nothing to
be seen; so walking to the window, he brought his face as close to the
glass as his nose would allow. There was a figure just discernible.
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