from his chest. He stood
irresolute for a moment, then revolving slowly on his heel, walked, as
if independently of his own volition, over to his desk. He felt very
strangely; he did not remember to have ever felt so strangely before.
His head had become suddenly confused, but at the same time he was
aware that his brain had thrown open its doors to a new arrival, and
that the visitor was trying to make itself heard. It appeared to be a
visitor of great importance, and Dartmouth was conscious that it had
presented itself to his perceptions in the form of an extraordinarily
strong impulse, a great and clamorous Desire. He had been aware of the
same desire before, but only in an abstract way, a general purposeless
longing; but now this peremptory, loudly-knocking consciousness was
vaguely suggesting another--just behind. It would almost seem, if it
were not too preposterous a supposition, as if that second struggling
consciousness were trying to announce itself under the high-sounding
title of--what? He could not formulate it. If his brain were only not
so confused! What could so suddenly have affected him? He was always
so clear-headed and logical. Was he going to be ill? When he reached
his desk he sat down before it and mechanically took up his pen.
He leaned his head on his hand, like a man in a state of mental
exhaustion, and closed his eyes for a moment. Then he opened them
wide, with an exclamation which was almost a cry; and of his usual
calm repose there was not a trace remaining. He leaned forward
breathlessly and put his pen to the paper. "Her eyes! Her skin! Her
form!" he muttered uncertainly. "Her--her--her--Oh! _what_ is it?
_Why_ cannot I say it? It has come at last--_she_ was right after
all--but the words--the words--why will not they come? The music is
there--a great rhythm and harmony--but the words are floating about
like wraiths of mist. If I could only grasp and crystallize them, and
set them to that wonderful music, the world--the world would rise at
last and call me great! Her eyes--her hair--oh, my God, _what_ is it?"
He threw down his pen and staggered to his feet. His face was blanched
and drawn, and his eyes had lost their steady light. He grasped the
chair to save himself from falling; he had lost over himself both
physical and mental control. It seemed to him that two beings, two
distinct entities, were at war within his brain--that new, glorious
consciousness, and a tangible power above, whic