is often found in the passion of self-pity and that
spirit of obstinate resistance which it engenders. In certain natures
the extreme of self-pity is intolerable, and leads to self-destruction;
but there are less fortunate beings whom the vehemence of their revolt
against fate strengthens to endure in suffering. These latter are rather
imaginative than passionate; the stages of their woe impress them as
the acts of a drama, which they cannot bring themselves to cut short, so
various are the possibilities of its dark motive. The intellectual man
who kills himself is most often brought to that decision by conviction
of his insignificance; self-pity merges in self-scorn, and the
humiliated soul is intolerant of existence. He who survives under like
conditions does so because misery magnifies him in his own estimate.

It was by force of commiserating his own lot that Edwin Reardon
continued to live through the first month after his parting from Amy.
Once or twice a week, sometimes early in the evening, sometimes at
midnight or later, he haunted the street at Westbourne Park where his
wife was dwelling, and on each occasion he returned to his garret with
a fortified sense of the injustice to which he was submitted, of revolt
against the circumstances which had driven him into outer darkness, of
bitterness against his wife for saving her own comfort rather than
share his downfall. At times he was not far from that state of sheer
distraction which Mrs Edmund Yule preferred to suppose that he had
reached. An extraordinary arrogance now and then possessed him; he stood
amid his poor surroundings with the sensations of an outraged exile, and
laughed aloud in furious contempt of all who censured or pitied him.

On hearing from Jasper Milvain that Amy had fallen ill, or at all
events was suffering in health from what she had gone through, he felt
a momentary pang which all but determined him to hasten to her side. The
reaction was a feeling of distinct pleasure that she had her share of
pain, and even a hope that her illness might become grave; he pictured
himself summoned to her sick chamber, imagined her begging his
forgiveness. But it was not merely, nor in great part, a malicious
satisfaction; he succeeded in believing that Amy suffered because she
still had a remnant of love for him. As the days went by and he heard
nothing, disappointment and resentment occupied him. At length he ceased
to haunt the neighbourhood. His desires