n in reading the book itself and forming a judgment of it, and
then an evening of sickly irritation would follow, in which, pacing
backwards and forwards, in the empty study, I had to admit that the
author, no more gifted, no more favoured with talent than myself, had
been successful and I had not. The very praise I received for my powers
from men who would not help me to employ them was a maddening stimulus.

"Talent? Yes, decidedly, but too heterodox for us."

This was the general resume of the opinion of the publishing world that
had determined to eject me and shut its door in my face. Had it been
hinted that the rejection was on the ground of incapacity it would have
been easier to bear, but, without exception, every declined manuscript
had been accompanied with a warm commendation of the art that the
critic chose to think was so misapplied. Often, walking up and down the
length of that study with these letters of empty compliment crowding
the mantelpiece, I felt like a captured tiger in a cage, being goaded
and thrust at through the bars. And, together with this excessive
longing of the brain to employ its power raged the useless, vehement
desire for the woman, until in those moments of silent solitude, it
seemed as if two living vultures were upon me, slowly tearing me
asunder. As I walked away from Lucia this morning, and when I reached
my own steps, I was conscious of a sense of physical illness; my head
seemed light and dizzy, as when one gets up after long fever. I was so
long opening the door that Nous, who had pushed his whole body close up
against it, looked at me with surprise. As we went in I had one clear
determination, and that was to apply once more to my father for help.
He could, if he would, enable me to marry Lucia. Success must come with
time. It was this time that would be transformed. This time, this daily
life of waiting work, that hung upon me now like a wolf, with its
fangs, gnawing my brain, would then, if I possessed her, pass by like a
dove upon wings. After luncheon, when he was standing by the hearth, I
thought, was a good time to approach the subject, and I came up to the
other end of the mantelpiece.

"Don't you think you could," I said, striking a lucifer and lighting up
a cigar, without the least wish to smoke at that moment, "manage to let
Lucia and myself arrange something?"

He looked at me a little ironically.

"Have you heard that the firm have rescinded their decision, and