all like the
look of the very big bulldog who was squatting outside the porter's
lodge. Perhaps, but for her present anger, she would not have stooped
endearingly down to him, as she did, cooing over him and trying to pat
his head. Alas, her pretty act was a failure. The bulldog cowered away
from her, horrifically grimacing. This was strange. Like the majority
of his breed, Corker (for such was his name) had ever been wistful to
be noticed by any one--effusively grateful for every word or pat, an
ever-ready wagger and nuzzler, to none ineffable. No beggar, no burglar,
had ever been rebuffed by this catholic beast. But he drew the line at
Zuleika.

Seldom is even a fierce bulldog heard to growl. Yet Corker growled at
Zuleika.

VII

The Duke did not try to break the stony silence in which Zuleika walked.
Her displeasure was a luxury to him, for it was so soon to be dispelled.
A little while, and she would be hating herself for her pettiness. Here
was he, going to die for her; and here was she, blaming him for a breach
of manners. Decidedly, the slave had the whip-hand. He stole a sidelong
look at her, and could not repress a smile. His features quickly
composed themselves. The Triumph of Death must not be handled as a
cheap score. He wanted to die because he would thereby so poignantly
consummate his love, express it so completely, once and for all...
And she--who could say that she, knowing what he had done, might not,
illogically, come to love him? Perhaps she would devote her life to
mourning him. He saw her bending over his tomb, in beautiful humble
curves, under a starless sky, watering the violets with her tears.

Shades of Novalis and Friedrich Schlegel and other despicable
maunderers! He brushed them aside. He would be practical. The point was,
when and how to die? Time: the sooner the better. Manner:.. less easy to
determine. He must not die horribly, nor without dignity. The manner of
the Roman philosophers? But the only kind of bath which an undergraduate
can command is a hip-bath. Stay! there was the river. Drowning (he had
often heard) was a rather pleasant sensation. And to the river he was
even now on his way.

It troubled him that he could swim. Twice, indeed, from his yacht,
he had swum the Hellespont. And how about the animal instinct of
self-preservation, strong even in despair? No matter! His soul's set
purpose would subdue that. The law of gravitation that brings one to the
surface? There