He could think of nothing but his monastery; his Latin authors were
forgotten; he drew facades and turrets on the cloth during dinner, and
he went up to his room, not to bed, but to reconsider the difficulties
that rendered the construction of a central tower an impossibility.
Midnight: the house seems alive in the silence: night is on the world.
The twilight sheds on the walking birds, on the falling petals, and in
the rich shadow the candle burns brightly. The great bridal bed yawns,
the lace pillows lie wide, the curtains hang dreamily in the hallowed
light. John leans over his drawings. Once again he takes up the
architect's notes.
"_The interior would be so constructed as to make it impossible to
carry up the central tower. The outer walls would not be strong enough
to take the large gables and roof. Although the chapel could be done
easily, the ambulatory would be of no use, as it would lead probably
from the kitchen offices._
"_Would have to reduce work on front facade to putting in new arched
entrance. Buttresses would take the place of columns_.
"_The bow-window could remain_.
"_The roof to be heightened somewhat. The front projection would throw
the front rooms into almost total darkness_."
"But why not a light timber lantern tower?" thought John.
Pages:
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125