e inevitable end. Trouble lay in the past, now rest and rest
alone awaited him, rest that would gradually grow deeper and deeper as
the swift years rolled by, till it was swallowed up in that almighty
Peace to which, being a simple and religious man, he had looked
forward from childhood as the end and object of his life.

Foolish man and vain imagining! Here, while we draw breath, there is
no rest. We must go on continually, on from strength to strength, or
weakness to weakness; we must always be troubled about this or that,
and must ever have this desire or that to regret. It is an inevitable
law within whose attraction all must fall; yes, even the purest souls,
cradled in their hope of heaven; and the most swinish, wallowing in
the mud of their gratified desires.

And so our hero had already begun to find out. Here, before he had
been forty-eight hours in Honham, a fresh cause of troubles had
arisen. He had seen Ida de la Molle again, and after an interval of
between five and six years had found her face yet more charming than
it was before. In short he had fallen in love with it, and being a
sensible man he did not conceal this fact from himself. Indeed the
truth was that he had been in love with her for all these years,
though he had never looked at the matter in that light. At the least
the pile had been gathered and laid, and did but require a touch of
the match to burn up merrily enough. And now this was supplied, and at
the first glance of Ida's eyes the magic flame began to hiss and
crackle, and he knew that nothing short of a convulsion or a deluge
would put it out.

Men of the stamp of Harold Quaritch generally pass through three
stages with reference to the other sex. They begin in their youth by
making a goddess of one of them, and finding out their mistake. Then
for many years they look upon woman as the essence and incarnation of
evil and a thing no more to be trusted than a jaguar. Ultimately,
however, this folly wears itself out, probably in proportion as the
old affection fades and dies away, and is replaced by contempt and
regret that so much should have been wasted on that which was of so
little worth. Then it is that the danger comes, for then a man puts
forth his second venture, puts it forth with fear and trembling, and
with no great hope of seeing a golden Argosy sailing into port. And if
it sinks or is driven back by adverse winds and frowning skies, there
is an end of his legitimate dealings