He felt the wild sweep of the
storm across the lake, the warmth of her nearness, the sense of her
complete trust in him; then their arrival at the inn, the dazzle of
light as they crossed the threshold, and de Crucis confronting them
within. He heard her voice pleading with him in every accent that pride
and tenderness and a noble loyalty could command; he felt her will
slowly dominating his, like a supernatural power forcing him into his
destined path; he felt--and with how profound an irony of spirit!--the
passion of self-dedication in which he had taken up his task.
He had known moments of happiness since; moments when he believed in
himself and in his calling, and felt himself indeed the man she thought
him. That was in the exaltation of the first months, when his
opportunities had seemed as boundless as his dreams, and he had not yet
learned that the sovereign's power may be a kind of spiritual prison to
the man. Since then, indeed, he had known another kind of happiness, had
been aware of a secret voice whispering within him that she was right
and had chosen wisely for him; but this was when he had realised that he
lived in a prison, and had begun to admire the sumptuous adornment of
its walls. For a while the mere external show of power amused him, and
his imagination was charmed by the historic dignity of his surroundings.
In such a setting, against the background of such a past, it seemed easy
to play the benefactor and friend of the people.
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