all his senses were submerged in the colors of romance. These fragrant hues which had a delicate aroma and pungency the imagination alone can impart were of no time or country. There was nothing that the mind could render as belonging to itself; the faculties which embody the technical were overcome by the tumultuous surgings with which they were oppressed. He seemed to be transfigured with the sense of joy, to be overpowered with the knowledge that he was a living man, able to breathe and to perform. The room had grown small and heavy. He was consumed with an overmastering desire for the spacious streets, for the largeness of the universe.
"There is a bed for you here," said the beautiful player, almost before the last phrase had ceased to vibrate under her touch. "We could not think of turning you out at this hour."
"I have not the least intention of staying," said Northcote. "The hospitality you have given me already has been too profuse. I feel that I must roam for the rest of the night in the open streets, a Flying Dutchman of the London slush. Perhaps I shall fancy myself to be the mad music-maker of Leipsic, who walked at night on the ramparts to weave his harmonies."
"We cannot consent to your leaving us in this manner," said the hostess. "As for roaming through the night, it will not be good for you. Nor is there the least necessity why you should."
"You forget his genie," laughed the solicitor. "The infernal thing will drive him all over the suburbs of south London and send him home via the Crystal Palace and Blackfriars Bridge."
