See how he turns, with the blaze of royal indignation on his brow I Who of gods or men has dared thus to come between him and his bliss?
He is not wont to be so thwarted; he demands that the cup shall be refilled and brought again; only when mocking laughter echoes round him, when it is but too plain that the spirits no longer serve him, that where he most desires his power is least, does his resentment change by cold degrees to that chill anguish of the abandoned soul, which pays the debt of so many an hour of triumph.

For the moment, words of kindness and sustaining hope might seem to avail him; but there is the night waiting in ambush for his weakness, that season of the sun's silence, when the body denuded of vestment typifies the spirit's exposure to its enemies.

Let him live through his fate-imposed trial in that torture-chamber of ancient darkness.

He will not come forth a better man, though perchance a wiser; wisdom and goodness are from of old at issue.

Henceforth he will have eyes for many an ugly spot in his own nature, hidden till now by the veil of happiness.