It was only then that Captain Anthony turned, looked at the place they
had vacated and resumed his tramping, but not his desultory conversation
with his second officer. His nervous exasperation had grown so much that
now very often he used to lose control of his voice. If he did not watch
himself it would suddenly die in his throat. He had to make sure before
he ventured on the simplest saying, an order, a remark on the wind, a
simple good-morning. That's why his utterance was abrupt, his answers to
people startlingly brusque and often not forthcoming at all.
It happens to the most resolute of men to find himself at grips not only
with unknown forces, but with a well-known force the real might of which
he had not understood. Anthony had discovered that he was not the proud
master but the chafing captive of his generosity. It rose in front of
him like a wall which his respect for himself forbade him to scale. He
said to himself: "Yes, I was a fool--but she has trusted me!" Trusted! A
terrible word to any man somewhat exceptional in a world in which success
has never been found in renunciation and good faith. And it must also be
said, in order not to make Anthony more stupidly sublime than he was,
that the behaviour of Flora kept him at a distance. The girl was afraid
to add to the exasperation of her father. It was her unhappy lot to be
made more wretched by the only affection which she could not suspect. She
could not be angry with it, however, and out of deference for that
exaggerated sentiment she hardly dared to look otherwise than by stealth
at the man whose masterful compassion had carried her off. And quite
unable to understand the extent of Anthony's delicacy, she said to
herself that "he didn't care." He probably was beginning at bottom to
detest her--like the governess, like the maiden lady, like the German
woman, like Mrs. Fyne, like Mr. Fyne--only he was extraordinary, he was
generous. At the same time she had moments of irritation. He was
violent, headstrong--perhaps stupid. Well, he had had his way.
A man who has had his way is seldom happy, for generally he finds that
the way does not lead very far on this earth of desires which can never
be fully satisfied. Anthony had entered with extreme precipitation the
enchanted gardens of Armida saying to himself "At last!" As to Armida,
herself, he was not going to offer her any violence. But now he had
discovered that all the enchantment was in Armida herself, in Armida's
smiles. This Armida did not smile. She existed, unapproachable, behind
the blank wall of his renunciation. His force, fit for action,
experienced the impatience, the indignation, almost the despair of his
vitality arrested, bound, stilled, progressively worn down, frittered
away by Time; by that force blind and insensible, which seems inert and
yet uses one's life up by its imperceptible action, dropping minute after
minute on one's living heart like drops of water wearing down a stone.