There's not the smallest orb which thou beholdest But in his motion like an angel sings, Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubims. Merchant of Venice. —there came to him a vivid impression of sudden light in the room, and he knew that something very familiar was happening to him, yet something that had not happened consciously for thirty years and more —since his early childhood in the night-nursery with the bars across the windows. He was both asleep and awake at the same time. Some part of him, rather, that never slept was disengaging itself—with difficulty. He was getting free. Stimulated by his intercourse with the children, this part of him that in boyhood used to be so easily detached, light as air, was getting loose. The years had fastened it in very tightly. Jimbo and Monkey had got at it. And Jimbo and Monkey were in the room at this moment. They were pulling him out. It was very wonderful; a glory of youth and careless joy rushed through him like a river. Some sheath or vesture melted off.
