egan to feel that he was looking at the face of Audrey herself. The
hair was golden and different, the eyes grey and different, the mouth a
little fuller; yet--it was her face; the same oval shape, the same
far-apart, arched brows, the same strangely tender, elusive spirit. And,
as though offended, he turned and walked on. In the window of that
little shop was the effigy of her for whom he had bartered away his
life--the incarnation of passive and entwining love, that gentle
creature, who had given herself to him so utterly, for whom love, and the
flowers, and trees, and birds, music, the sky, and the quick-flowing
streams, were all-sufficing; and who, like the goddess in the picture,
seemed wondering at her own existence. He had a sudden glimpse of
understanding, strange indeed in one who had so little power of seeing
into others' hearts: Ought she ever to have been born into a world like
this? But the flash of insight yielded quickly to that sickening
consciousness of his own position, which never left him now. Whatever
else he did, he must get rid of that malaise! But what could he do in
that coming life? Write books? What sort of books could he write? Only
such as expressed his views of citizenship, his political and social
beliefs. As well remain sitting and speaking beneath those towers! He
could never join the happy band of artists, those soft and indeterminate
spirits, for whom barriers had no meaning, content-to understand,
interpret, and create. What should he be doing in that galley? The
thought was inconceivable. A career at the Bar--yes, he might take that
up; but to what end? To become a judge! As well continue to sit beneath
those towers! Too late for diplomacy. Too late for the Army; besides,
he had not the faintest taste for military glory. Bury himself in the
country like Uncle Dennis, and administer one of his father's estates?
It would be death. Go amongst the poor? For a moment he thought he had
found a new vocation. But in what capacity--to order their lives, when
he himself could not order his own; or, as a mere conduit pipe for money,
when he believed that charity was rotting the nation to its core? At the
head of every avenue stood an angel or devil with drawn sword. And then
there came to him another thought. Since he was being cast forth from
Church and State, could he not play the fallen spirit like a man--be
Lucifer, and destroy! And instinctively he at once saw himse