The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. This done, he let himself carefully down by it, and having only a few feet to drop, alighted in safety. There were doorways to peer into, dim cluttered holes with shadowy forms moving about, potters and rug-weavers. A man came out, and walking recklessly, almost cannoned into Ennison. A drunken idea, Ah Cum had called it. "That was the lad's name," returned the stranger. Amongst others who came to see him, was a Mr. Blackness was beginning to consume the cornfield.
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