le and trivial occupations, that had sunken now
to indignity and uncleanness. He was overwhelmed by that persuasion,
which only freshly soiled youth can feel in its extreme intensity, that
life was slipping away from him, that the sands were running out, that
in a little while his existence would be irretrievably lost.

By some trick of the imagination he saw life as an interminable Bond
Street, lit up by night lamps, desolate, full of rubbish, full of the
very best rubbish, trappings, temptations, and down it all he drove, as
the damned drive, wearily, inexplicably.

WHAT ARE WE UP TO WITH LIFE! WHAT ARE WE MAKING OF LIFE!

But hadn't he intended to make something tremendous of life? Hadn't he
come to London trailing a glory?...

He began to remember it as a project. It was the project of a great
World-State sustained by an aristocracy of noble men. He was to have
been one of those men, too fine and far-reaching for the dull manoeuvers
of such politics as rule the world to-day. The project seemed still
large, still whitely noble, but now it was unlit and dead, and in the
foreground he sat in the flat of Mrs. Skelmersdale, feeling dissipated
and fumbling with his white tie. And she was looking tired. "God!" he
said. "How did I get there?"

And then suddenly he reached out his arms in the darkness and prayed
aloud to the silences.

"Oh, God! Give me back my visions! Give me back my visions!"

He could have imagined he heard a voice calling upon him to come out
into life, to escape from the body of this death. But it was his own
voice that called to him....

10

The need for action became so urgent in him, that he got right out of
his bed and sat on the edge of it. Something had to be done at once. He
did not know what it was but he felt that there could be no more sleep,
no more rest, no dressing nor eating nor going forth before he came to
decisions. Christian before his pilgrimage began was not more certain of
this need of flight from the life of routine and vanities.

What was to be done?

In the first place he must get away and think about it all, think
himself clear of all these--these immediacies, these associations and
relations and holds and habits. He must get back to his vision, get back
to the God in his vision. And to do that he must go alone.

He was clear he must go alone. It was useless to go to Prothero, one
weak man going to a weaker. Prothero he was convinced could help him not
at a