Kingston began to feel that, after all, the bill sent in by the
gods had fallen more heavily on him than even on Isabel. Isabel had
passed through agony to glory. But he, he had another agony, longer
and more incurable than hers, though less poignant; and no glory to
compensate, at the end, for the gnawing persistence of his pain.
The grey, sad merit of doing his drudging duty by the world for two
or three more score of years--that, perhaps, lay before him; but a
chilling, colourless glory was this, at once harder and less rewarding
than the sudden flare of martyrdom through which Isabel had passed
upwards on her way. For upwards she had gone, leaving him henceforth
alone on the lower levels where they had first met. Isabel--selfish,
passionate, barbarous Isabel--in one whirling moment had leapt above
all the trammels of false desire and fear--had soared into the great
heights of selflessness, and left far beneath her the outworn husk
of her old struggling egoism. In that other state where she now went
radiant, it must be another Isabel that lived and moved--a purified
Isabel, stripped of many mean and selfish thoughts; an Isabel far
nearer than before to the ultimate radiance towards which the whole
world is inevitably tending through ages of slow purification. How
should he even be able to catch up lost ground and come level with this
glorified Isabel once more? And yet, again, without features--without
the well-remembered features of body (without so many of the mind’s
well-remembered features too)--how, even if chance should be given, was
he to recognise the soul that had once been one with his own?
She had utterly outstripped him in the race. No test of his endurance
could equal that test of hers--no, not if he lived decently and
honestly all his days, doing the best he could with his duty through
the lagging years that probably lay ahead; why, that would be nothing
to compare with her ordeal, no such swift burning furnace as that
through which Isabel had passed, and from which she had emerged all
gold in the sunlight of her future.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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