(25)hear exactly what it said -- but what matter if they caught themeaning? - how again and again the wave sweeps in splendour upthe beach. The voice entreated the sleepers, if they would notactually come to the beach itself, at least to lift the blind andlook out. They would see how the robes of the august God floweddown; hew his head was crowned; his sceptre jewelled; and in hiseyes a child might look. And if the sleepers still faltered, andsaid, No: that it was vapour this splendour of his, and the dewhad more power than he, without complaint without argument, thevoice would sing its song. Gently the waves would break; tenderlythe light would beam. And everything in the room -- cupboards, basins,tables, -- freshly ordered, straitly ranged - seemed to lie under theenchantment, placed more statelily to-night, conscious more gravelyto-night of an order, of a purpose, which when day broke would berevealed.

Indeed, the voice might resume, as the leaves of the passionflower tapped the window, and the mazy pattern of leaf, chair,table all waved on the floor, he was content with this; it wasenough this -- to fold the sleepers round in blue, to be, shouldthey need him, waiting them there.

After all then why not agree? accept? Without losing theirscepticism or sinking into the depths of acquiescence, they might,half turned, look out: assume some look that was not any longerrapture; lie watchfully awake and see how through a chink of the
blind the splendid monarch flowed down; hear the b vast sigh of
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