He seemed to be reading the thoughts of his sheep around him,
yet all the time went on talking, and knew he was talking, with the
earl and the lady.
After a while, everything was changed. He was no longer either with
his sheep or his company. He was alone, and walking swiftly through
and beyond the park, in a fierce wind from the north-east, battling
with it, and ruling it like a fiery horse. By and by came a hoarse,
terrible music, which he knew for the thunderous beat of the waves
on the low shore, yet imagined issuing from an indescribable
instrument, gigantic and grotesque. He felt it first--through his
feet, as one feels without hearing the tones of an organ for which
the building is too small to allow scope to their vibration: the
waves made the ground beat against the soles of his feet as he
walked; but soon he heard it like the infinitely prolonged roaring
of a sky-built organ. It was drawing him to the sea, whether in the
body or out of the body he knew not: he was but conscious of forms
of existence: whether those forms had relation to things outside
him, or whether they belonged only to the world within him, he was
unaware. The roaring of the great water-organ grew louder and
louder. He knew every step of the way to the shore--across the
fields and over fences and stiles. He turned this way and that, to
avoid here a ditch, there a deep sandy patch.
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