“Now he’s so sleepy,” she whispered.  “Would you like him beside you a moment?”

“Please.”

He felt the faint scent of the tiny boy, and still those eyes looked into his.  He forgot his daughter standing there; and as he watched, a sweet fresh sense of the mystery of this life so new stole deep into his spirit.  All at once the baby fell asleep.

“Good-night, little brother,” he whispered.  “God grant the world be very kind.”  He could feel the mother lift it up, and he heard the door close softly.

Smiling he, too, fell asleep.  And after that there were only dreams.

CHAPTER XLIV

And his dreams were of children.  Their faces passed before him.  Now they were young again in the house.  They were eating their suppers, three small girls, chattering like magpies.  From her end of the table their mother smiled quietly across at him.  “Come children,” she was saying, “that will do for a little while.”  But Roger said, “Oh, let them talk."...  Then he saw new-comers.  Bruce came in with Edith, and George and young Elizabeth, and Allan came with Deborah who had a baby in her arms, and Laura stood beside them.  Here were his three daughters, grown, but still in some uncanny way they looked to him like children still; and behind them he detected figures long forgotten, of boys and girls whom he had known far back in his own childhood.  John, too, had come into the house.  Strangely now the walls were gone, had lifted, and a clamorous throng, laughing, shouting, pummeling, hedged him in on every hand—­Deborah’s big family!

Soon the uproar wearied him, and Roger tried to shut them out, to bring back again the walls to his house.  And sometimes he succeeded, and he was left for a while in peace with Judith and his three small girls.  But despite his efforts to keep them there, new faces kept intruding.  Swiftly his small family grew, split into other families, and these were merged with other figures pressing in from every side.  Again he felt the presence of countless families all around, dividing, reuniting, with ceaseless changes and fresh life—­a never ending multitude.  Here they were singing and dancing, and Laura gaily waved to him.  At another place were only men, and they were struggling savagely to clutch things from each other’s hands.  A sea of scowling visages, angry shouts, fists clinched in air.  And he thought he saw Bruce for an instant.  Behind them lay wide valleys obscured by heavy clouds of smoke, and he could hear the roar of guns.  But they vanished suddenly, and he saw women mourning now, and Edith with her children turned to him her anxious eyes.  He tried to reach and help her, but already she had gone.  And behind her came huge bending forms, men heaving at great burdens, jaws set in scowls of fierce revolt.  And John was there on his crutches, and near him was a figure bound into a chair of steel, with terror in the straining limbs, while in desperation Deborah tried to wrench him free.  Abruptly Roger turned away.