St.George was saying to himself that at last the _Here_ and the _Now_ were infinitely desirable; and as for the fear for the morrow, what was that beside the promise of the days beyond?
At noon they all climbed the Obelisk Tower with its ceiling of carved leaves above carved leaves, and the real heavens a little farther up.

They leaned on the broad wall, cut by mock bastions and faced the glory of the sunny, trembling sea, starred with the dipping wings of gulls.

Blue sky, blue sea, eyes that saw looks that eyes did not know they gave--ah, what a day it was! When the rollicking wind told about that, down on the dun earth, surely it echoed their young courage, their young belief in the future, the incorruptibility of their understanding that the future was theirs, under the law.

For the wind always teaches that.

The wind is the supreme believer, and one has only to take a walk in it at this moment to know the truth.
Yet in spite of the wind, in spite of their high security, in spite of the little wing-like moments that hold not history but revelation, they were all going down the hours beneath the pendent sword of "To-morrow, at noon.".