ill, whirling upon its narrow base, while the
world appears at an interminable distance, even as to a deaf man who
sees yet cannot hear.

There came home to him at that moment with a force indescribable the
shamelessness of the act he committed four years ago. He had thought to
come back to miserable humiliation. For four years he had refused to do
his duty as a man towards an innocent woman,--a woman, though in part
a savage,--now transformed into a gentle, noble creature of delight and
goodness. How had he deserved it? He had sown the storm, it was but just
that he should reap the whirlwind; he had scattered thistles, could he
expect to gather grapes? He knew that the sympathy of all his father's
house was not with him, but with the woman he had wronged. He was glad
it was so. Looking back now, it seemed so poor and paltry a thing that
he, a man, should stoop to revenge himself upon those who had given him
birth, as a kind of insult to the woman who had lightly set him aside,
and should use for that purpose a helpless, confiding girl. To revenge
one's self for wrong to one's self is but a common passion, which
has little dignity; to avenge some one whom one has loved, man or
woman,--and, before all, woman,--has some touch of nobility, is redeemed
by loyalty. For his act there was not one word of defence to be made,
and he was not prepared to make it.

The cigars and liquors were beside him, but he did not touch them. He
seemed very far away from the ordinary details of his life: he knew
he had before him hard travel, and he was not confident of the end. He
could not tell how long he sat there.--After, a time the ticking of
the clock seemed painfully loud to him. Now and again he heard a cab
rattling through the Square, and the foolish song of some drunken
loiterer in the night caused him to start painfully. Everything jarred
on him. Once he got up, went to the window, and looked out. The moon was
shining full on the Square. He wondered if it would be well for him to
go out and find some quiet to his nerves in walking. He did so. Out in
the Square he looked up to his wife's window. It was lighted. Long time
he walked up and down, his eyes on the window. It held him like a charm.
Once he leaned against the iron railings of the garden and looked
up, not moving for a time. Presently he saw the curtain of the window
raised, and against the dim light of the room was outlined the figure of
his wife. He knew it. She stood fo