The new picture, a view of the downs and the gray sea beyond, progressed apace, but he was not satisfied with it. There was no defect in it that he could name or which he felt he could amend, but there was something lacking. The outward semblance was right; it was the inward spiritual grace that was lacking. Probably no other than himself would notice it, yet it hurt him. He felt as if some power had gone out of him, and that he painted no longer with gusto or firm, imperative inspiration. His skill had not deserted him, the coloring and the drawing satisfied his exacting taste and his intimate knowledge of nature. But it was only the outside of nature that he had caught and fixed; the heart of her was not there, as it had been in the pictures that had brought him name and fame. This was a dead thing—there was no life in it. He could not understand why his love for Marian should have affected him in this way or to so great an extent. Why should the absorption in her of all his hopes in any degree depreciate his insight into and love of nature? Surely a man might serve a woman and nature too? But though he could not trace its working or even fix in what it lay, he knew that some change had come over him, and that since he and Marian had been together he was a different man. This love that he had fully counted on to elevate and ennoble him, seemed to restrain him from reaching to that which had before been easily within his grasp. Perhaps, he sometimes thought, it was that he was not altogether free from anxiety concerning her. To her this separation had not appeared to be so miserable a thing as it was to him. She had suggested it, had argued for it, had not admitted any of the drawbacks which he had seen in it, and had absolutely refused to be shaken from her determination. On the other hand, she might have felt it as deeply and as keenly as he had done, while for his sake and to make it bearable for him, she had just put on a brave face, smiling when tears would easily have come. If this were so, how brave she had been and how cowardly he. This thought had come to him one morning when he had found work difficult, and was about to leave it for the day. It invigorated him; he would not be outdone by her, or he would ever have to reproach himself for not having faithfully abided by his word to work with all his might. Work! Yes, not for himself, but for her. If that did not drive him on, if that failed to inspire him, he was weak indeed.