human intellect, called "chance," which took
no heed of merit or unworthiness.

Must he, who had learned to silence and to starve every covetous desire,
in order to require no gifts from his own uncle and his wealthy kinsman
and friend, and be able to continue to hold his head high, as the most
independent of the independent, now, in addition to all his other woe,
be forced to believe in powers that exercised an influence over his
every act? Must he recognise praying to them and thanking them as the
demand of justice, of duty, and wisdom? Was this possible either?

And, believing himself alone, since he could not see Thyone and Daphne,
who were close by him, he struck his scorched brow with his clinched
fist, because he felt like a free man who suddenly realizes that a rope
which he can not break is bound around his hands and feet, and a giant
pulls and loosens it at his pleasure.

Yet no! Better die than become for gods and men a puppet that obeys
every jerk of visible and invisible hands.

Starting up in violent excitement, he tore the bandage from his face and
eyes, declaring, as Thyone seriously reprimanded him, that he would go
away, no matter where, and earn his daily bread at the handmill, like
the blind Ethiopian slave whom he had seen in the cabinetmaker's house
at Tennis.

Then Daphne spoke to him tenderly, but her soothing voice caused him
keener pain than his old friend's stern one.

To sit still longer seemed unendurable, and, with the intention of
regaining his lost composure by pacing to and fro, he began to walk; but
at the first free step he struck against the little table in front of
Thyone's couch, and as it upset and the vessels containing water fell
with it, clinking and breaking, he stopped and, as if utterly crushed,
groped his way back, with both arms outstretched, to the armchair he had
quitted.

If he could only have seen Daphne press her handkerchief first to her
eyes, from which tears were streaming, and then to her lips, that
he might not hear her sobs, if he could have perceived how Thyone's
wrinkled old face contracted as if she were swallowing a colocynth
apple, while at the same time she patted his strong shoulder briskly,
exclaiming with forced cheerfulness: "Go on, my boy! The steed rears
when the hornet stings! Try again, if it only soothes you! We will take
everything out of your way. You need not mind the water-jars. The potter
will make new ones!"

Then Hermon threw back