rnedmenheardthelasthourgorollingthroughtheirranksandissuedit,alreadysmoothandtime-worn,withtheirblessing,fortheuseoftheliving.
Wasittoreceivethisgiftfromthepastthattheyoungmancametothewindowandstoodthere,lookingoutacrossthecourt?ItwasJacob.Hestoodsmokinghispipewhilethelaststrokeoftheclockpurredsoftlyroundhim.Perhapstherehadbeenanargument.Helookedsatisfiedindeedmasterlywhichexpressionchangedslightlyashestoodthere,thesoundoftheclockconveyingtohim(itmaybe)asenseofoldbuildingsandtimeandhimselftheinheritorandthento-morrowandfriendsatthethoughtofwhom,insheerconfidenceandpleasure,itseemed,heyawnedandstretchedhimself.
Meanwhilebehindhimtheshapetheyhadmade,whetherbyargumentornot,thespiritualshape,hardyetephemeral,asofglasscomparedwiththedarkstoneoftheChapel,wasdashedtosplinters,youngmenrisingfromchairsandsofacorners,buzzingandbargingabouttheroom,onedrivinganotheragainstthebedroomdoor,whichgivingway,intheyfell.ThenJacobwasleftthere,intheshallowarm-chair,alonewithMasham?Anderson?Simeon?Oh,itwasSimeon.Theothershadallgone.
"…JuliantheApostate…."Whichofthemsaidthatandtheotherwordsmurmuredroundit?Butaboutmidnighttheresometimesrises,likeaveiledfiguresuddenlywoken,aheavywindandthisnowflappingthroughTrinityliftedunseenleavesandblurredeverything."JuliantheApostate"—andthenthewind.Upgotheelmbranches,outblowthesails,theoldschoonersrearandplunge,thegreywavesinthehotIndianOceantumblesultrily,andthenallfallsflatagain.
So,iftheveiledladysteppedthroughtheCourtsofTrinity,shenowdrowsedoncemore,allherdraperiesabouther,herheadagainstapillar.
"Somehowitseemstomatter."
ThelowvoicewasSimeon's.
Thevoicewasevenlowerthatansweredhim.Thesharptapofapipeonthemantelpiececancelledthewords.AndperhapsJacobonlysaid"hum,"orsaidnothingatall.True,thewordswereinaudible.Itwastheintimacy,asortofspiritualsuppleness,whenmindprintsuponmindindelibly.
"Well,youseemtohavestudiedthesubject,"saidJacob,risingandstandingoverSimeon'schair.Hebalancedhimselfheswayedalittle.Heappearedextraordinarilyhappy,asifhispleasurewouldbrimandspilldownthesidesifSimeonspoke.
Simeonsaidnothing.Jacobremainedstanding.Butintimacy—theroomwasfullofit,still,deep,likeapool.Withoutneedofmovementorspeechitrosesoftlyandwashedovereverything,mollifying,kindling,andcoatingthemindwiththelustreofpearl,sothatifyoutalkofalight,ofCambridgeburning,it'snotlanguagesonly.It'sJuliantheApostate.
ButJacobmoved.Hemurmuredgood-night.Hewentoutintothecourt.Hebuttonedhisjacketacrosshischest.Hewentbacktohisrooms,andbeingtheonlymanwhowalkedatthatmomentbacktohisrooms,hisfootstepsrangout,hisfigureloomedlarge.BackfromtheChapel,backfromtheHall,backfromtheLibrary,camethesoundofhisfootsteps,asiftheoldstoneechoedwithmagisterialauthority:"Theyoungman—theyoungman—theyoungman-backtohisrooms."