And under the immobilized gesture of lofty protection in the branches outspread wide above his head, under the high branches where white birds slept wing to wing in the shelter of countless leaves, he tossed like a grain of dust in a whirlwind--sinking and rising--round and round--always near that gate.

All through the languid stillness of that night he fought with the impalpable; he fought with the shadows, with the darkness, with the silence.

He fought without a sound, striking futile blows, dashing from side to side; obstinate, hopeless, and always beaten back; like a man bewitched within the invisible sweep of a magic circle..