The night was serene and breathless. The sky had cleared, and the
moonlight slept mistily on the soft slopes of the park. The landscape
was a febrifuge, and cooled and quieted his brain as he stood before it
at his open window, in solitary meditation. It was not till his slowly
wandering eye lighted on the churchyard, with a sort of slight shock,
that he again bestirred himself.
There it lay, with its white tombstones and its shadows spread under
him, seeming to say--'Ay, here I am; the narrow goal of all your plans.
Not one of the glimmering memorials you see that does not cover what
once was a living world of long-headed schemes, chequered remembrances,
and well-kept secrets. Here lie your brother plotters, all in bond, only
some certain inches below; with their legs straight and their arms by
their sides, as when grim Captain DEATH called the stern word
"attention!" with their sightless faces and unthinking foreheads turned
up to the moon. Dr. Sturk, there are lots of places for you to choose
among--suit yourself--here--or here--or maybe here.'
And so Sturk closed the window and remembered his dream, and looked out
stealthily but sternly from the door, which was ajar, and shut it
sharply, and with his hands in his breeches' pockets, took a quick turn
to the window; his soul had got into harness again, and he was busy
thinking.
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