He wished to be alone,
to fight with it; he did not even think of going to Lord Evelyn; perhaps
it was now too late. Shortly afterward he bade Edwards good-night, and
made his way to his rooms at the foot of Buckingham Street.

Waters had left the lights low; he did not turn them up. Outside lay the
black night-world of London, hushed and silent, with its thousand golden
points of fire. He was glad to be alone.

And yet an unknown feeling of dread was upon him. It seemed as if now
for the first time he realized what a terrible destiny had nearly been
his; and that his escape, so far from rendering him joyful, had left him
still trembling and horrified. Hitherto his pride had conquered. Even as
he had undertaking that duty, it was his pride that had kept him
outwardly calm and indifferent. He would not show fear, he would not
even show repugnance, before these men. And it was pride, too, that had
taught him at length and successfully to crush down certain vague
rebellions of conscience. He would not go back from his oath. He would
not go back from the promise to which Natalie's ring bound him. He would
go through with this thing, and bid farewell to life; further than that
no one could have demands on him.

But the sudden release from this dire pressure of will left his nerves
somewhat unstrung. For the mere sake of companionship he would like to
have taken Natalie's hand, to have heard her voice: that would have
assured him, and given him courage. He knew not what dangers encompassed
her, what agony she might not be suffering. And the night did not answer
these sudden, wavering, confused questionings; the darkness outside was
as silent as the grave.

Then a deeper gloom, almost touching despair, fell upon him. He saw in
all those companions of his only so many dupes; the great hope of his
life left him, the future became blank. He began to persuade himself
that he had only toyed with that new-found faith; that it was the
desperation of _ennui_, not a true hope, that had drawn him into this
work; that henceforth he would have no right to call upon others to join
in a vain undertaking. If such things as had just occurred were possible
in this organization, with all its lofty aims and professions--if there
was to be a background of assassination and conspiracy--why, this dream
must go as others had done. Then what remained to him in life? He almost
wished he had been allowed to go forward to this climax unknowing; to
h