thither, like a stone down a
hill. She saw the streets and people as she passed them, as a stone
might if it had eyes. All power of will had been taken from her; it was
the same as when she went to meet Owen at Berkeley Square, and in a
strange lucidity of mind, she asked herself if it were not true that we
are never more than mere machines set in motion by a master hand,
predestined to certain courses, purblind creatures who do not perceive
their own helplessness, except in rare moments of heightened
consciousness. As if to convince herself on this point, she strove to
raise her hand to open the trap in the roof of the hansom, and her fear
increased on finding that she could not. To acquire the necessary
strength, she reminded herself that she was wrecking her whole life for
an idea, for, perhaps, nothing more than a desire to confess her sins.
Again she tried to raise her hand, and she looked round, feeling that
nothing short of some extraordinary accident could save her, nothing
except an accident to the horse or carriage could save her artistic
life. Some material accident, nothing else.... Monsignor might not be at
St. Joseph's. Perhaps he had left town. Nobody stayed in town in
September, and for a moment it seemed hardly worth while to continue her
drive. Her thoughts came to a standstill, and, as in a nervous vision,
Evelyn saw that the whole of her future life depended on her seeing
Monsignor that day. She foresaw that if she were turned away from the
door of St. Joseph's, she would never come back; never would she be able
to bring herself to the point again. She would find Owen waiting for
her; wherever she went, she would meet him; sooner or later the
temptation to return to him would overcome her. Then, indeed, she would
be lost; then, indeed, her tragedy would begin.... Ah! if she could only
cease to think for a little while; only for a little while. She had
tried to escape from him once before, and had not succeeded because
there was no one to help her. Now there was Monsignor. The reflection
cheered her, and a few minutes were left to discover how much of her
conversion was owing to her original nature, and how much to Monsignor's
influence. It seemed to her that if she were certain of this point, she
would know whether she should go forward or back. But her heart gave
back no answer, and she grew more helpless, and terrified, like a bird
fallen into the fascination of a serpent. She was uncertain if she c