d of him whom,
longing after him, she had not yet dared to call her father. His regard
for her was that of the gentle strong towards the weak he would help;
and now that she seemed fairly started on the path of life, the path,
namely, to the knowledge of him who is the life, his care over her grew
the more tender. It is the part of the strong to serve the weak, to
minister that whereby they too may grow strong. But he rather than
otherwise avoided meeting her, and for a good many days they did not so
much as see each other.

CHAPTER XLVI.

A HORRIBLE STORY.

The health of the earl remained fluctuating. Its condition depended
much on the special indulgence. There was hardly any sort of narcotic
with which he did not at least make experiment, if he did not indulge
in it. He made no pretence even to himself of seeking therein the
furtherance of knowledge; he wanted solely to find how this or that,
thus or thus modified or combined, would contribute to his living a
life such as he would have it, and other quite than that ordered for
him by a power which least of all powers he chose to acknowledge. The
power of certain drugs he was eager to understand: the living source of
him and them and their correlations, he scarcely recognized. This came
of no hostility to religion other than the worst hostility of all--that
of a life irresponsive to its claims. He believed neither like saint
nor devil; he believed and did not obey, he believed and did not yet
tremble.

The one day he was better, the other worse, according, as I say, to the
character and degree of his indulgence. At one time it much affected
his temper, taking from him all mastery of himself; at another made him
so dull and stupid, that he resented nothing except any attempt to
rouse him from his hebetude. Of these differences he took unfailing
note; but the worst influence of all was a constant one, and of it he
made no account: however the drugs might vary in their operations upon
him, to one thing they all tended--the destruction of his moral nature.

Urged more or less all his life by a sort of innate rebellion against
social law, he had done great wrongs--whether also committed what are
called crimes, I cannot tell: no repentance had followed the remorse
their consequences had sometimes occasioned. And now the possibility of
remorse even was gradually forsaking him. Such a man belongs rather to
the kind demoniacal than the kind human; yet so long as not