With lips compressed in an agony he could neither analyze nor conquer,
he turned slowly back into the dimly lighted room. Two torches burned
on either side of the throne and threw unsteady shadows among the
glittering pillars. They lit up his face and revealed it as that of a
man who has cast his youth behind him for ever. Only a few months had
passed since he had sat there with Travers in the full noon of his
hope and enthusiasm. He remembered the scene with a clearness which
was a fresh torture. The hopes that had been built up in that hour lay
shattered, the woman for whom they had been built was lost. He thought
of her now as he always thought of her, as he knew he would think of
her to the end. For this love, save that it had grown and deepened
into a wider understanding, had remained unchanged. As there had been
cowards and tricksters among his heroes, so in that one woman evil and
good had stood side by side and fought out their battle. And the good
had won--had won because he alone of all men had believed in it. He
believed in it still--in the same measure as he had learned to love
her--with a deeper understanding of temptation and failure. It was the
one triumph in the midst of seeming ruin, the one firm rock in the
raging torrent of his fate, beaten as it was between the contending
streams of desire and duty. She was indeed lost to him, but not as in
the first hour of his shaken trust.
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