Chapter 3

           Butwhatafterallisonenight?Ashortspace,especiallywhenthedarknessdimssosoon,andsosoonabirdsings,acockcrows,orafaintgreenquickens,likeaturningleaf,inthehollowofthewave.Night,however,succeedstonight.Thewinterholdsapackoftheminstoreanddealsthemequally,evenly,withindefatigablefingers.Theylengthen;theydarken.Someofthemholdaloftclearplanets,platesofbrightness.Theautumntrees,ravagedastheyare,takeontheflashoftatteredflagskindlinginthegloomofcoolcathedralcaveswheregoldlettersonmarblepagesdescribedeathinbattleandhowbonesbleachandburnfarawayinIndiansands.Theautumntreesgleamintheyellowmoonlight,inthelightofharvestmoons,thelightwhichmellowstheenergyoflabour,andsmoothsthestubble,andbringsthewavelappingbluetotheshore.

           Itseemednowasif,touchedbyhumanpenitenceandallitstoil,divinegoodnesshadpartedthecurtainanddisplayedbehindit,single,distinct,thehareerect;thewavefalling;theboatrocking;which,didwedeservethem,shouldbeoursalways.Butalas,divinegoodness,twitchingthecord,drawsthecurtain;itdoesnotpleasehim;hecovershistreasuresinadrenchofhail,andsobreaksthem,soconfusesthemthatitseemsimpossiblethattheircalmshouldeverreturnorthatweshouldevercomposefromtheirfragmentsaperfectwholeorreadinthelitteredpiecestheclearwordsoftruth.Forourpenitencedeservesaglimpseonly;ourtoilrespiteonly