They
shall not master me. They are the temptations of the Evil One. But can
I resist them? Have I not grieved away the spirit? Is there place for
repentance? Am I not like Esau, who sought it in vain with many tears?
If he was refused the grace of God, why not I? Why not I, that I may
go to my own place? Already I feel and know my destiny. I feel it in
the terrible looking for of judgment. I feel it in that I do not love
my neighbor. If I did, would I not sympathize in his happiness? Would
this wretched self for ever interpose? I never knew myself before. I
now know the unutterable vileness of my heart. I would hide it from
Thee, my God. I would hide it from Thy holy angels--from myself."

That day, Mr. Armstrong stirred not from the house, as long as the sun
remained above the horizon. The golden sunshine deepened his mental
gloom. Nor to his eyes was it golden. It was a coppery, unnatural
light. It looked poisonous. It seemed as if the young leaves of spring
ought to wither in its glare.

He heard the laugh of a man in the street, and started as if he had
been stung. It sounded like the mockery of a fiend. Was the laugh
directed at him? He started, and ran to the window, with a feeling
of anger, to see who it was that was triumphing over his misery.
He looked up and down the street, but could see no one. The
disappointment still further irritated him. Was he to be refused the
poor satisfaction of knowing who had wounded him? Was the assassin
to be permitted to stab him in the back? Was he not to be allowed to
defend himself? He returned and resumed his seat, trembling all over.
Faith's canary bird was singing, at the top of its voice. Armstrong
turned and looked at it. The little thing, with fluttering wings and
elevated head, and moving a foot, as if beating time, poured out a
torrent of melody. The sounds, its actions, grated on his feelings. He
rose and removed it into another room.

He folded his arms, his head fell upon his chest, and he shut his
eyes to exclude the light. "I am out of harmony with all creation,"
he said. "I am fit for a place where no bird ever sings. This is the
evidence of my doom. Only the blessed can be in harmony with
God's works. Heaven is harmony--the music of his laws. Evil is
discord--myself am discord."

Faith had still some influence over him, though even at her entrance
he started "like a guilty thing surprised." Her presence was a charm
to abate the violence of the hurricane.