Whether it
was from the stinging thought that the true sky-soarer, the violin,
having been devoured by the jaws of the fire-devil, there was no
longer any significance in the outward and visible sign of the
dragon, or from a dim feeling that the time of kites was gone by and
manhood on the threshold, I cannot tell; but he drew his knife from
his pocket, and with one down-stroke cut the string in twain. Away
went the dragon, free, like a prodigal, to his ruin. And with the
dragon, afar into the past, flew the childhood of Robert Falconer.
He made one remorseful dart after the string as it swept out of the
skylight, but it was gone beyond remeid. And never more, save in
twilight dreams, did he lay hold on his childhood again. But he
knew better and better, as the years rolled on, that he approached a
deeper and holier childhood, of which that had been but the feeble
and necessarily vanishing type.
As the kite sank in the distance, Mrs. Falconer issued from the
house, and went down the street towards the factory.
Before she came back the cloth was laid for dinner, and Robert and
Shargar were both in the parlour awaiting her return. She entered
heated and dismayed, went into Robert's bedroom, and shut the door
hastily. They heard her open the old bureau. In a moment after she
came out with a more luminous expression upon her face than Robert
had ever seen it bear. It was as still as ever, but there was a
strange light in her eyes, which was not confined to her eyes, but
shone in a measure from her colourless forehead and cheeks as well.
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