an end for ever. It is all
forsaking me, the delight of imagining great things, what power I had
of putting my fancies into words, the music that used to go with me
through the day's work. It is long since I wrote a line of verse.
Quietness, peace, a calm life of thought, these things are what I
_must_ have; I thought I should have them in a higher degree than ever,
and I find they are irretrievably lost. I feel my own weakness, as I
never could before. When you bid me strengthen myself, you tell me to
alter my character. The resolution needed to preserve the better part
of my nature through such a life as this, will never be within my
reach. It is fearful to think of what I shall become as time goes on. I
dread myself! There have been revealed to me depths of passion and
misery in my own heart which I had not suspected. I shall lose all
self-control, and become as selfish and heedless as she is."

"No, you will not," said Waymark encouragingly. "This crisis will pass
over, and strength will be developed. We have a wonderful faculty for
accommodating ourselves to wretchedness; how else would the world have
held together so long? When you begin to find your voice again, maybe
you won't sing of the dead world any longer, but of the living and
suffering. Your thoughts were fine; they showed you to be a poet; but I
have never hidden from you how I wished that you had been on my side.
Art, nowadays, must be the mouthpiece of misery, for misery is the
key-note of modern life."

They talked on, and Julian, so easily moulded by a strong will, became
half courageous.

"One of her reproaches," he said, "is just; I can't meet it. If I
object to her present companions it is my duty to find her more
suitable ones. She lives too much alone. No doubt it is every husband's
duty to provide his wife with society. But how am I to find it? I am so
isolated, and always have been. I know not a soul who could be a friend
to her."

Waymark grew thoughtful, and kept silent.

"One person I know," he said presently, and in a cautious way, "who
might perhaps help you."

"You do?" cried Julian eagerly.

"You know that I make all sorts of queer acquaintances in my
wanderings. Well, I happen to know a girl of about your wife's age,
who, if she were willing, would be just the person you want. She is
quite alone, parentless, and almost without friends. She lives by
herself, and supports herself by working in a laundry. For all this,
she is b