The Argosy — page 190: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Lady Valeria. 173 wincing at the random touch of a careless finger? He had always told himself that it wasa pitiful thing fora man to let his life be spoilt by a woman. There was a time for love-sickness in every man’s life he had supposed, but the attack would pass, and it must be a poor constitution that it could permanently enfeeble. He laughed again more bitterly as he ran over all his old cut-and-dry axioms. Hisscheme of life had been so perfect. It had been a deliberate attempt to arrive at his own actual value that had taken him to St. Fridolin’s, and it was reserved for him there to learn the full extent of his weakness and his strength. There she had come smiling by and witched the heart out of him with a bright glance and a few soft words, and at first he had all but hated her for it. And there, one day, he knew not how, there had come to him a knowledge—bitter-sweet, poignant, exquisite— that he held in his hand the destinies of two, not one alone as he had fancied. He had done his utmost gently to unlink and dissever the thread of his life from hers, and now that he had succeeded was he to waste his later days in bewailing his success? Was he not strong enough to set before himself other hopes and aims? Was there no other woman in the world in whose love, if he might win it, rest and joy might yet be found? He asked himself thequestion indig- nantly, and something answered for him ‘‘No! A thousand times no!” He thought of his father’s words and of Hester, then put the thought away with a quick repulsion, as if he were offering her some indignity. Not Hester, nor another, was for him while his life should endure. He saw his future barren and chill but clear before him, and now let the dead past bury its dead. After which conclusion he settled himself back in the carriage and thought over every look and word of Mrs. Damien’s from the first moment he had beheld her to the last. The train took its leisurely way back to town, and the smoke of London had gathered round him before his thoughts returned to the cause of his journey, and he began to wonder at Mr. Meynell’s sum- mons. He had not arrived at any conclusion by the time the train entered the station, and on the platform he caught a glimpse of a face he could hardly believe to be Oliver Meynell’s—so white and ghastly was it—peering anxiously into each carriage as it drew up. “VYou’ve come,” he said, with a gasp of relief, as Eustace got out. “T thought you would, though I could explain nothing in my message. The carriage is here. Will you come home with me ?” Seen in the gloom of the carriage his face looked whiter and more scared than at first. He cowered into a corner and sat silent till the Vicar made some exclamation on seeing that they were driving to Seagrave Place instead of Queen’s Gate. ‘Do you live here now ?” he asked. “Here? No. That is, I am here at present—since Sunday. The Brants are away, and I cannot go home to Constance and the children—with this hanging over me.” COnniclboooks Go im