in of
his whole life, as a mere sacrifice to honour, although, even at the
best, it was extremely doubtful whether the object of the sacrifice
would be attained. The merciful power of sleep intervened amid these
gloomy thoughts; he slept and dreamed of his mother, who, with her true
and loving eyes, seemed to watch over him like an angel. His tears fell
fast till, at the moment when the train drew up, just outside Naples,
he was awakened by an old man in the _coupe_, who could not bear to
hear his sobs. Mansana sprang out of the carriage. It was a glorious
morning, and the relentless clearness of the sky, bounded by the
faintly defined outlines of the mountain chains, seemed to Mansana
ruthlessly to expose his misery; he shivered in the chilly morning air,
and returned to the atmosphere of the smoky engine, just then preparing
to steam out again, to the rattling and racket of the noisy train, and
to his own stifling thoughts.

A few minutes later, and they were coasting close beside the sea; what
would he not have given for the train to have slipped from its rails
and glided quietly, gently, out into the depths of the blue water. What
peace! What blessed release in such a death!

As the train stopped on reaching Naples, he hid himself in the corner
of his carriage, lest in the crowd of loiterers there might be some one
who knew and might recognise him. The day seemed to grow more and more
beautiful as they threaded their way through the little sea-coast
towns. The sun shone as warmly as on a summer's morning, and the bright
rays refracted through the soft sea mist tinged with exquisite colour
the mountains, sea and landscape. He left the train and drove towards
his destination; then, dismissing the carriage, began to climb the
steep rock-hewn steps leading to the place which was to be his
journey's end. In those moments--with the waters of the Bay beneath
him, and beyond the beautiful view of the distant islands like
shapeless sea monsters guarding the approach, with the mountains capped
by Vesuvius, and the towns gleaming white under the shimmer of the lazy
smoke wreaths--he felt the reality of life. But it was not his own life
spent in a vain chase after glory, a struggle for something he could
not have defined, now that he knew it was to end in nothing; no, it was
the power of a life such as was designed for him by the God of the
vaulted heaven above, with the brightness of His glory that
transfigures and irradiate