"But I have that within which passeth show;
These but the trappings and the suits of Woe."
Not less like Hamlet did he feel and look as he sat gauntly at the
dinner table with Fanny to partake of a meal throughout which neither
spoke. Isabel had sent word "not to wait" for her, an injunction it
was as well they obeyed, for she did not come at all. But with the
renewal of sustenance furnished to his system, some relaxation must
have occurred within the high-strung George. Dinner was not quite
finished when, without warning, sleep hit him hard. His burning eyes
could no longer restrain the lids above them; his head sagged beyond
control; and he got to his feet, and went lurching upstairs, yawning
with exhaustion. From the door of his room, which he closed
mechanically, with his eyes shut, he went blindly to his bed, fell
upon it soddenly, and slept--with his face full upturned to the light.
It was after midnight when he woke, and the room was dark. He had not
dreamed, but he woke with the sense that somebody or something had
been with him while he slept--somebody or something infinitely
compassionate; somebody or something infinitely protective, that would
let him come to no harm and to no grief.
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