the unchanging gloom, which, at one period,
had seemed as though it must dry up for ever all enthusiasm from his
boyish heart. What a fire of passions had blazed up and died away within
him; and as he thought of that sudden dying away, he thought of the
moment when they had been quenched for ever, and of the voice which had
quenched them. Again he crouched on his knees by the side of the sofa
drawn up close to the high open windows of the Italian villa, and felt
that thin white hand laid gently upon his trembling lips, checking in a
moment the flood of angry words which in his heart had been but the
prelude to a curse. The calm of that death-white face, with its marble
passionless pallor and saint-like beauty, lingered still, faithfully
treasured up in the rich store-house of his memory. Death alone would
wipe it out. It was one of the experiences of his life, written alike
into his undying recollection, and into his heart.

And then had come that period of severe struggle with himself, out of
which he had emerged not only a conqueror, but with all the spoils of
conquest. For he had found himself, after the battle was fought out and
won, possessed of a more triumphant self-control, and a complete mastery
over those fierce earthly passions which, had they held sway for long,
would in time most surely have weakened that higher and purer part of
his nature from which all the good of his life had come. It was, indeed,
in some measure owing to the wholesome discipline of this struggle that
he had found at last the long-sought-for gift of expression, and,
taking up the pen, had sent forth golden words and thoughts into an age
where such metal was rare indeed. Always there had been this dark cloud
of anxiety looming over him, and leading him into many countries and
constantly denying him the peace for which he longed. Then had come the
climax of it all, the tragedy which had thrown over him the lowering
cloud of a hideous danger. Failure was his. The moment of trial had
come, and he had been unequal to it; and day and night there rang ever
in his ears the faint far-off whisper of those tremulous lips, and the
pleading light in those burning eyes seemed ever before him. Again he
felt the touch of that icy cold hand, and again he remembered the words
of the oath which, alas! he had not kept. Oh, it was horrible!

Once more his thoughts moved on a stage, and this time they reached
their climax. Before his fixed eyes there floated