usness
of his presence that ruled my mood. This world was _his_ world; this
England _his_ England; this London was _his_ London and that of all
children. It was for them that the failure mattered. So I thought,
tormented, tortured with pain and impatience.

Leaving the Strand, we turned down one of the narrow streets near to the
Savoy Hotel, I forget which one it was, and walked to the Embankment. We
came out not far from Charing Cross Bridge and looked down over the long
sweep of the water. The evening sky was a dull gray, almost black, but
the rain had ceased to fall, and just then above us there was a break as
if the absent moon was working to cut the clouds adrift. A kind of
luminous darkness closed around us. It was beautiful. The massed
buildings rose a blurred outline between the river and the sky like
great beasts crouching and ready to spring, while through the
steel-black circlings of the bridge row after row of lights sparkled and
glowed, and blurs of color, amber to warm orange, splashed upon the
river. On the other side, behind us, the big hotels all were lighted,
and the unaccustomed illumination appeared to give too full a flood of
light to be quite real. Ever and anon rockets shot up into the gray and
fell in burning rain, and every color was reflected in diminishing
shades, above in that one luminous patch of sky, and below in the
pallid, rippled water. Yes, the scene was beautiful, perfect as a
dream-city one could desire; all the elements "composed" in the
painter's sense, and in arrogance of soul I felt that the beautiful
effect had been arranged for me: that it was like a faultless piece of
scene-painting, only there is no artist who could paint it.

I watched in silence as my son talked at my side. Here there was almost
no noise; reports of motors and the harsh clang of shouting echoed, but
in the distance. After the crowds we had left, the wide roadway appeared
deserted, and the quiet made it easy for me to urge myself past my
despair. One moment at least I had in which I was conscious again of a
spirit and quality in life; the immense forces working on while the
city rioted its victory. But it all goes so slowly--not fast enough!

The night became darker, the gray rift in the clouds narrowed and
closed, a few great drops of rain fell heavily. Around us the air blew
chill, the trees, whose points stood out jet black among the sweeping
line of the still shrouded Embankment lamps, murmured with in