The
daily paper lay on a stool at his hand. He took it up and tried to read,
but the print swam into thin, black smudges. He dashed the paper to the
ground, and gave himself up to his madness.
After a while he remembered his appointment with Katherine at three
o'clock. He glanced at his watch. It was a quarter to the hour, and,
beyond a cleaning yesterday afternoon, no preparations were made. In an
automatic way he unlocked some cases and drew out his treasures, wiped
the sword-blades tenderly with chamois leather, and laid them on the
long, baize-covered table. Here and there from the cornice he selected a
helmet. The great mace used by his ecclesiastical ancestor he unhooked
from the wall. Soon the table was covered with weapons, selected in a
dazed way, he knew not why. A helmet fell from his hands on the floor
with a ring of steel. Its visor grinned at him--the fool, the tricked,
the supplanted. He kicked it, with a silly laugh. Then he pulled himself
together, picked it up, and examined it in great fear lest harm should
have happened to it.
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