The boy doesn't know it, but I dug into his trunk for something to identify him and stumbled upon some manuscripts. The twists in his brain had suddenly straightened out; he was normal, wholly himself; and he knew now exactly what he had done. He had been for months without music of the character he loved—and he dared not play any of it! McClintock, after the music began, left the piano and sat in a corner just beyond the circle of light cast by the lamp. In lieu of the substantial habitations which he had gazed on overnight, he beheld a row of falling scaffoldings, for such they seemed.
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