Page:Pan's Garden.djvu/247

 the lawns together, we wandered underneath the young grey dawn. And multitudes of dense white fleecy clouds shepherded by the slow, unwilling wind.⁠⁠…'

And then, into his stuffy room, slipped the singing perfume of a wallflower on a ruined tower, and with it the sweetness of hot ivy. He heard the 'yellow bees in the ivy bloom.' Wind whipped over the open hills⁠—this very wind that laboured drearily through the London fog.

And⁠—he was caught. The darkness melted from the city. The fog whisked off into an azure sky. The roar of traffic turned into booming of the sea. There was a whistling among cordage, and the floor swayed to and fro. He saw a sailor touch his cap and pocket the two-franc piece. The syren hooted⁠—ominous sound that had started him on many a journey of adventure⁠—and the roar of London became mere insignificant clatter of a child's toy carriages.

He loved that syren's call; there was something deep and pitiless in it. It drew the wanderers forth from cities everywhere: 'Leave your known world behind you, and come with me for better or for worse! The anchor is up; it is too late to change. Only⁠—beware! You shall know curious things⁠—and alone!'

Henriot stirred uneasily in his chair. He turned with sudden energy to the shelf of guidebooks, maps and timetables⁠—possessions he most valued in the whole room. He was a happy-go-lucky, adventure-loving soul, careless of common standards, athirst ever for the new and strange.

'That's the best of having a cheap flat,' he laughed, 'and no ties in the world. I can turn the