They march to their object, and gaining or losing it, the voice that calls to them is the voice of a blind creature, whom any answer, provided that the answer is ready, will silence.

And at an hour like this, when finally they snatch their minute of sight on the threshold of black night, their souls may compare with yonder shining circle on the ceiling, which, as the light below gasps for air, contracts, and extends but to mingle with the darkness.

They would be nobler, better, boundlessly good to all;--to those who have injured them to those whom they have injured.

Alas! for any definite deed the limit of their circle is immoveable, and they must act within it.

The trick they have played themselves imprisons them.