Though it may seem at first glance that one could hardly be blamed for such a reaction to his circumstances, in truth when a man cares for nothing that is worth caring for, the fault must indeed lie within himself—in the character the man has made, and is making, out of the nature God has given him. There is a moral reason why he does not and cannot care. If Cornelius had begun at any time to do something he knew he ought to do, he would not now have been the poor slave of circumstances he was—at the mercy of the weather. When men face a duty, not merely will that duty become less unpleasant to them, but life itself will immediately begin to gather interest. For in duty, and duty only, does an individual begin to come into real contact with life. Only then can he see what life is, and grow fit for it.

He threw himself on the bed—for he dared not smoke with his father so near—and dozed away the morning till lunch. He then returned to his room and fell asleep again till tea time. This was his only resource against the unpleasantness of the day. When tea was over, he rose and sauntered once more to the window.

“Hullo!” he cried. “I say, Hester, the sun’s shining! The rain’s over—at least for a quarter of an hour! Come, let’s go out for a walk. We’ll go hear the band at the castle gardens. I don’t think there’s anything going on at the theater.”

The sight of the sun revives both men and midges.

“I would rather walk,” said Hester.

Hester had a rather severe mode of speaking, especially to this brother. She was the only person in the house who could have done any thing with him, and she lost her opportunity by shouting to him from a distance, instead of coming close up to him and speaking in a whisper. But she did not love him enough for that, neither was she yet calm enough in herself to be able for it. I doubt much, however, if he would have been in any degree permanently the better for the best she could have done for him. He was too self-satisfied for any redemption. He was afraid of his father, resented the interference of his mother, was as cross as he pleased with his sister, and cared little whether she was vexed with him or not. He regarded the opinion of any girl, just because she was a girl, too little for her to establish any true relation with him.

She went to put on her hat and cloak, and soon they were in the street.

It was one of those misty clearings in which sometimes the day seems to gather up its careless skirts that have been sweeping the half-drowned world as it prepares for the waiting night. There was a great lump of orange colour half melted in the watery clouds of the west, but dreariness still hung everywhere else. As they walked along, Hester’s eyes were drawn upward into the sky. Suddenly she cried out in pain when her foot turned awkwardly on a stone.