rage of the cowards who were brave enough to seek oblivion or
punishment in death. Dropping his eyes to his soft, unlovely hands,
he marvelled that anything so useless should throb with life, and yet
he realised that he was afraid of physical pain, terrified at the
thought of death. There were dim ancestors of his whose valour had
thrilled the songs of minstrels and made his name lovely in the
glowing folly of battles. But now he knew that he was a coward, and
even in the knowledge he could find no comfort. It is not given to
every man to hate himself gladly.

The music and the laughter beat on his sullen brain with a mocking
insistence, and he trembled with impotent anger at the apparent
happiness of humanity. Why should these people be merry when he was
miserable, what right had the orchestra to play a chorus of triumph
over the stinging emblems of his defeat? He drank brandy after
brandy, vainly seeking to dull the nausea of disgust which had
stricken his worn nerves; but the adulterated spirit merely maddened
his brain with the vision of new depths of horror, while his body
lay below, a mean, detestable thing. Had he known how to pray he
would have begged that something might snap. But no man may win to
faith by means of hatred alone, and his heart was cold as the marble
table against which he leant. There was no more hope in the
world. . . .

When he came out of the cafe, the air of the night was so pure
and cool on his face, and the lights of the square were so tender to
his eyes, that for a moment his harsh mood was softened. And in that
moment he seemed to see among the crowd that flocked by a beautiful
face, a face touched with pearls, and the inner leaves of pink
rosebuds. He leant forward eagerly. "Christine!" he cried,
"Christine!"

Then the illusion passed, and, smitten by the anger of the pitiless
stars, he saw that he was looking upon a mere woman, a woman of the
earth. He fled from her smile with a shudder.

As he went it seemed to him that the swaying houses buffeted him
about as a child might play with a ball. Sometimes they threw him
against men, who cursed him and bruised his soft body with their
fists. Sometimes they tripped him up and hurled him upon the stones
of the pavement. Still he held on, till the Embankment broke before
him with the sudden peace of space, and he leant against the
parapet, panting and sick with pain, but free from the tyranny of
the houses.

Beneath him the river rol