ticle, within the bones
and flesh of many of us, there is but one person,--a man or woman,
with a preponderance either of good or evil, whose conduct in any
emergency may be predicted with some assurance of accuracy by any
one knowing the man or woman. Such persons are simple, single, and,
perhaps, generally, safe. They walk along lines in accordance with
certain fixed instincts or principles, and are to-day as they were
yesterday, and will be to-morrow as they are to-day. Lady Eustace was
such a person, and so was Lucy Morris. Opposite in their characters
as the two poles, they were, each of them, a simple entity; and any
doubt or error in judging of the future conduct of either of them
would come from insufficient knowledge of the woman. But there are
human beings who, though of necessity single in body, are dual in
character;--in whose breasts not only is evil always fighting against
good,--but to whom evil is sometimes horribly, hideously evil, but is
sometimes also not hideous at all. Of such men it may be said that
Satan obtains an intermittent grasp, from which, when it is released,
the rebound carries them high amidst virtuous resolutions and a
thorough love of things good and noble. Such men,--or women,--may
hardly, perhaps, debase themselves with the more vulgar vices. They
will not be rogues, or thieves, or drunkards,--or, perhaps, liars;
but ambition, luxury, self-indulgence, pride, and covetousness will
get a hold of them, and in various moods will be to them virtues in
lieu of vices. Such a man was Frank Greystock, who could walk along
the banks of the quiet, trout-giving Bob, at Bobsborough, whipping
the river with his rod, telling himself that the world lost for love
would be a bad thing well lost for a fine purpose; and who could also
stand, with his hands in his trousers pockets, looking down upon the
pavement, in the purlieus of the courts at Westminster, and swear
to himself that he would win the game, let the cost to his heart be
what it might. What must a man be who would allow some undefined
feeling,--some inward ache which he calls a passion and cannot
analyse, some desire which has come of instinct and not of
judgment,--to interfere with all the projects of his intellect,
with all the work which he has laid out for his accomplishment?
Circumstances had thrown him into a path of life for which, indeed,
his means were insufficient, but which he regarded as, of all paths,
the noblest and the manlie