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slight and curious； and he withdraws。 Clear of the room he looks
at his watch； but is inclined to doubt it by a minute or thereabouts。
There is a splendid clock upon the staircase； famous； as splendid
clocks not often are； for its accuracy。 “And what do you say？ Mr
Tulkinghorn inquires； referring to it。 “What do you say？”
If it said now； “Don’t go home！” What a famous clock； hereafter；
if it said tonight of all the nights that it has counted off； to this old
man of all the young and old men who have ever stood before it；。
“Don’t go home！” With its sharp clear bell it strikes three…quarters
after seven； and ticks on again。 “Why； you are worse than I
thought you；” says Mr Tulkinghorn； muttering reproof to his
watch。 “Two minutes wrong？ At this rate you won’t last my time。”
What a watch to return good for evil； if it ticked in answer “Don’t
go home！”
He passes out into the streets； and walks on； with his hands
behind him； under the shadow of the lofty houses； many of whose
mysteries； difficulties； mortgages； delicate affairs of all kinds； are
treasured up within his old black satin waistcoat。 He is in the
confidence of the very bricks and mortar。 The high chimney…
stacks telegraphed family secrets to him。 Yet there is not a voice in
a mile of them to whisper “Don’t go home！”
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Through the stir and motion of the commoner streets； through
the roar and jar of many vehicles； many feet； many voices； with the
blazing shop…lights lighting him on； the west wind blowing him on；
and the crowd pressing him on； he is pitilessly urged upon his
way； and nothing meets him； murmuring “Don’t go home！”
Arrived at last in his dull room； to light his candles； and look round
and up； and see the Roman pointing from the ceiling； there is no
new significance in the Roman’s hand tonight； or in the flutter of
the attendant groups to give him the late warning； “Don’t come
here！”
It is a moonlight night； but the moon； being past the full； is only
now rising over the great wilderness of London。 The stars are
shining as they shone above the turret…leads at Chesney Wold。
This woman； as he has of late been so accustomed to call her； looks
out upon them。 Her soul is turbulent within her； she is sick at
heart and restless。 The large rooms are too cramped and close。
She cannot endure their restraint； and will walk alone in a
neighbouring garden。
Too capricious and imperious in all she does； to be the cause of
much surprise in those about her as to anything she does； this
woman； loosely muffled； goes out into the moonlight。 Mercury
attends with the key。 Having opened the garden gate； he delivers
the key into his Lady’s hand at her request； and is bidden to go
back。 She will walk there some time； to ease her aching head。 She
may be an hour； she may be more。 She needs no further escort。
The gate shuts upon its spring with a clash； and； he leaves her
passing on into the dark shade of some trees。
A fine night； and a bright large moon； and multitudes of stars。
Mr Tulkinghorn； in repairing to his cellar； and in opening and
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shutting those resounding doors； has to cross a little prison…like
yard。 He looks up casually； thinking what a fine night； what a
bright large moon； what multitudes of stars！ A quiet night； too。
A very quiet night。 When the moon shines very brilliantly； a
solitude and stillness seem to proceed from her； that influence
even crowded places full of life。 Not only is it a still night on dusty
high roads and on hill…summits； whence a wide expanse of country
may be seen in repose； quieter and quieter as it spreads away into
a fringe of trees against the sky； with the grey ghost of a bloom
upon them； not only is it a still night in gardens and in woods； and
on the river where the water…meadows are fresh and green； and
the stream sparkles on among pleasant islands； murmuring weirs；
and whispering rushes； not only does the stillness attend it as it
flows where houses cluster thick； where many bridges are
reflected in it； where wharves and shipping make it black and
awful； where it winds from these disfigurements through marshes
whose grim beacons stand like skeletons washed ashore； where it
expands through the bolder region of rising grounds； rich in corn…
field； windmill and steeple； and where it mingles with the ever…
heaving sea； not only is it a still night on the deep； and on the
shore where the watcher stands to see the ship with her spread
wings cross the path of light that appears to be presented to only
him； but even on this stranger’s wilderness of London there is
some rest。 Its steeples and towers； and its one great dome； grow
more ethereal； its smoky house…tops lose their grossness； in the
pale effulgence； the noises that arise from the streets are fewer
and are softened； and the footsteps on the pavements pass more
tranquilly away。 In these fields of Mr Tulkinghorn’s inhabiting；
where the shepherds play on Chancery pipes that have no stop；
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and keep their sheep in the fold by hook and by crook until they
have shorn them exceeding close； every noise is merged； this
moonlight night； into a distant ringing hum； as if the city were a
vast glass； vibrating。
What’s that？ Who fired a gun or pistol？ Where was it？
The few foot…passengers start； stop； and stare about them。
Some windows and doors are opened； and people come out to
look。 It was a loud report； and echoed and rattled heavily。 It shook
one house； or so a man says who was passing。 It has aroused all
the dogs in the neighbourhood； who bark vehemently。 Terrified
cats scamper across the road。 While the dogs are yet barking and
howling—there is one dog howling like a demon—the church…
clocks； as if they were startled too； begin to strike。 The hum from
the streets； likewise； seems to swell into a shout。 But it is soon
over。 Before the last clock begins to strike ten； there is a lull。 When
it has ceased； the fine night； the bright large moon； and multitudes
of stars； are left at peace again。
Has Mr Tulkinghorn been disturbed？ His windows are dark
and quiet； and his door is shut。 It must be something unusual
indeed； to bring him out of his shell。 Nothing is heard of