The moon had ceased to shine in through
the window-panes, and it had grown quite dark; but
the old man still sat in his arm-chair with folded
hands and gazed before him into the emptiness of the
room.
Gradually, the murky darkness around
him dissolved away before his eyes and changed into
a broad dark lake; one black wave after another went
rolling on farther and farther, and on the last one,
so far away as to be almost beyond the reach of the
old man’s vision, floated lonely among its broad
leaves a white water-lily.
The door opened, and a bright glare
of light filled the room.
“I am glad that you have come,
Bridget,” said the old man. “Set the
lamp upon the table.”
Then he drew his chair up to the table,
took one of the open books and buried himself in studies
to which he had once applied all the strength of his
youth.