she could not bear to leave
England; she could not face the gay people who thronged the Riviera,
while he was bound to degrading tasks. The luxury of her own life
horrified her when she compared it with his hard fare; and she could not
look upon the comfortable rooms she lived in, with their delicate
refinements, without thinking of the bare cell to which he was confined.
Lucy was glad to be alone.

She went nowhere, but passed her days in solitude, striving to acquire
peace of mind; she took long walks in the parks with her dogs, and spent
much time in the picture galleries. Without realising the effect they
had upon her, she felt vaguely the calming influence of beautiful
things; often she would sit in the National Gallery before some royal
picture, and the joy of it would fill her soul with quiet relief.
Sometimes she would go to those majestic statues that decorated the
pediment of the Parthenon, and the tears welled up in her clear eyes as
she thanked the gods for the graciousness of their peace. She did not
often listen to music, for then she could remain no longer mistress of
her emotions; the tumultuous sounds of a symphony, the final anguish of
_Tristan_, made vain all her efforts at self-control; and when she got
home, she could only throw herself on her bed and weep passionately.

In reading she found her greatest solace. Many things that Alec had said
returned dimly to her memory; and she began to read the Greek writers
who had so profoundly affected him. She found a translation of Euripides
which gave her some impression of the original, and her constant mood
was answered by those old, exquisite tragedies. The complexity of that
great poet, his doubt, despair, and his love of beauty, spoke to her
heart as no modern writer could; and in the study of those sad deeds, in
which men seemed always playthings of the fates, she found a relief to
her own keen sorrow. She did not reason it out with herself, but almost
unconsciously the thought came to her that the slings and arrows of the
gods could be transformed into beauty by resignation and courage.
Nothing was irreparable but a man's own weakness, and even in shame,
disaster, and poverty, it was possible to lead a life that was not
without grandeur. The man who was beaten to the ground by an outrageous
fortune might be a finer thing than the unseeing, cruel powers that
conquered him.

It was in this wise that Lucy battled with the intolerable shame that
oppre