Then intuition, woman's guardian, had eyes and
ears, saw and heard with a distinctness that was nearly brilliant. But
when Julian's nature wandered, and the wanderings did not bring it where
hers was dwelling, her observation slept soundly enough. So she was not
conscious at first of Julian's gentle progress in a new direction.
Whether Valentine was conscious of it did not immediately appear, for
Julian said nothing. For five years he had not had a secret from
Valentine. Now he had to have one. He ranked Valentine with Doctor
Levillier as too good to be told of the evil thing. When he had had
temptations and resisted them he had told Valentine of them frankly. Now
he had temptations, and was beginning not to resist them; he kept silence
about them. This silence lasted for a little while, and then Valentine
swept it away, involuntarily it seemed, and by means of action, not of
words.
One day Julian met a man at his club, a lively, devil-may-care soldier of
fortune in the world. The man came to where he was sitting and said:
"So, Addison, your god has fallen from his pedestal. He's only a Dagon
after all."
Julian looked at him ignorantly.
"What god?" he asked.
"Your saint has tumbled from his perch.
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