meaning and
joy of all things that the outward senses have heretofore perceived as
not perceiving them. The art of the Old World claimed him as her own, as
beauty on land and sea had already done. The enjoyment of music and
pictures became all-important to him, at first because he searched in
them for the soul he had seen in the sea-maid's eyes.

Caius was of noble birth, because by inheritance and training he was the
slave of righteousness. For this reason he could not neglect his work,
although it had not a first place in his heart. As he was industrious,
he did not fail in it; because it was not the thing he loved best, he
did not markedly succeed. It was too late to change his profession, and
he found in himself no such decided aptitude for anything else as should
make him know that this or that would have been preferable; but he knew
now that the genius of the physician was not his, that to do his work
because it was duty, and to attain the respectable success which
circumstance, rather than mental pre-eminence, gives, was all that he
could hope. This saddened him; all his ambition revived under the
smarting consciousness of inferiority to his more talented companions.
The pleasures of his life came to him through his receptive faculties,
and in the consciousness of having seen the wider vision, and being in
consequence a nobler man. But all this, which was so much to him for a
year or two, grew to be a less strong sensation than that of
disappointment in the fact that he could only so meagrely fulfil his
father's ideal and his own. There came a sense of dishonesty, too, in
having used the old man's money chiefly in acquiring those mental graces
which his father could neither comprehend nor value.

Three years passed. Gradually the memory of his love for the sea-maid
had grown indistinct; and, more or less unconscious that this love had
been the door to the more wealthy gardens of his mind, he inclined to
despise it now as he despised the elegy he had written for the child who
was drowned. It was his own passion he was inclined to forget and
despise; the sea-maid herself was remembered, and respected, and
wondered at, and disbelieved in, and believed in, as of old, but that
which remains in the mind, never spoken of, never used as a cause of
activity of either thought or action, recedes into the latent rather
than the active portion of the memory.

Once, just once, in the first year of his foreign life, he had t