rtance to
others--the fame I have won for myself after so hard a struggle. All
this is swept away like drift-wood before a rising tide, and as a result
I retire into voluntary exile, a man burdened with a life-long sorrow.
How I have suffered, both in body and mind, none will ever understand.
That I have been punished is also certain, how heavily you, my two old
friends, will be able to guess when you have read my story. With the
writing of it I have severed the last link that binds me to the
civilized world. Henceforth I shall be a wanderer and an outcast, and
but for one reason could wish myself dead. But that is enough of regret;
let me commence my story.

Two years ago, as you both have terrible reason to remember, there
occurred in Europe what may, perhaps, be justly termed the most
calamitous period in its history, a time so heart-breaking, that
scarcely a man or woman can look back upon it without experiencing the
keenest sorrow. Needless to say I refer to the outbreak of the plague
among us, that terrible pestilence which swept Europe from end to end,
depopulated its greatest cities, filled every burial-place to
overflowing, and caused such misery and desolation in all ranks of life
as has never before been known among us. Few homes were there, even in
this fair England of ours, but suffered some bereavement; few families
but mourn a loss the wound of which has even now barely healed. And it
is my part in this dreadful business that I have forced myself with so
much bitter humiliation to relate. Let me begin at the very beginning,
tell everything plainly and straightforwardly, offer nothing in
extenuation of my conduct, and trust only to the world to judge me, if
such a thing be possible, with an unbiassed mind.

I date my misery from a wet, miserable night in the last week of
March--a night without a glimpse of the moon, which, on that particular
evening, was almost at its full. There had been but one solitary hour of
painting-light all day; short as it was, however, it was sufficient for
my purpose. My picture for the Academy was finished, and now all that
remained was to pack it up and send it in. It was, as you remember, my
eighth, and in every way my most successful effort. The subject I had
chosen had enthralled me from the moment it had first entered my head,
and the hours of thought and preparation it had entailed will always
rank among the happiest of my life. It represented Merenptah, the
Pharaoh of