Yet I had to live. That was the crowning wretchedness. If I could only have hidden my misery in the grave and have done with it--I, who was a mere cumberer of the ground, and worse than a cumberer! But I could not. My hateful existence still dragged on. Even the fig-tree which bore no fruit was commanded by Divine Mercy to wither away: but I was not granted even this much grace: I was cursed to live on, with Fay's _Tekel_ branded on my brow. It was part of my punishment. Like Cain, I learned that there is a heavier penalty than death: and that is life. And, like him, I sometimes felt that my punishment was greater than I could bear. As my body grew stronger my spirit was gradually roused from despondency to defiance. What had I done that such an unspeakable retribution should be meted out to me? I began to feel that my punishment was not only greater than I could bear, but greater than I deserved. True, I had been weak and tactless and over-indulgent: but was that enough to merit a life-sentence? For the first time in my life I ceased to submit, but stood up like Job and challenged the Lord to answer me out of the whirlwind, even though before Him I was as dust and ashes. But I was not as dust and ashes before Fay and Frank; yet they had treated me as if I were: and my heart was hot within me as I mused upon their behaviour towards me. At first I had been utterly crushed and prostrate: but as I regained my health I became angry and bitter. All that had formerly been sweet in my nature turned to gall, and I longed to curse God and die. The hidden spirit of rebellion which I had unconsciously cherished for forty-three years, and which I had originally inherited from my mother, suddenly sprang into life, thereby changing my whole nature. I was no longer the weak and amiable dilettante concealing a real tenderness of heart under an assumed cloak of good-humoured cynicism: I was a fierce and bitter Ishmael, driven out into the wilderness by human treachery, and at war with God and man. I hated Frank as vehemently as I still loved Fay. But I could forgive neither of them. My anger was hot against them both. I sternly refused to write to my wife, or to have any direct dealings with her. I instructed Arthur to pay her an allowance of a thousand a year, in addition to her own income, and to tell her from me that I accepted her decision, and intended to abide by it. "I will offer her the thousand per annum as you wish it, old boy," said Blathwayte, "although I know her aunt and uncle have heaps of money and nobody to give it to but Fay and Frank: but I am certain that in the circumstances Fay will refuse it." I laughed bitterly: "Probably; but Frank and 'Aunt Gertrude' won't, if I know anything about them: and Fay will be over-persuaded by them." And, as further events proved, I was right.