one after one
Smiling to himself , the lad was wondering whether to the Maker of those stars , this earth , that sea , the issue of this business might be more than the issue of a squabble between two sparrows would be to him . He crossed to the northward window . The Downs surged before him like a wave , dull against the brilliant darkness . Overhead the slow stars trailed by , dipping , one after one , behind the dark curtain of hills . The moon climbed above the sycamores . Out on the plain something sparkled frostily . It was the bayonet of a sentinel , lonely-pacing in the moonlight .