So she took up Stevenson and began to read aloud. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. She was aware of people—her aunt, her father, her fellow-students, friends, and neighbors— moving about outside this glowing secret, very much as an actor is aware of the dim audience beyond the barrier of the footlights. “I was sent for to go to the Hospital St. A middle-aged countrywoman, plump of cheek, and a little shy. She crept behind the open door and pounced on him when he came out of the bathroom, knocking him onto the floor with a loud thud.
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