There,
in that small room, with the long murmur of London outside, sat these two
human beings, desolate woman, vice-ridden man, both fallen down in the
deep mire, both almost whelmed in the flood of Fate. And he stood strong,
faithful, clean-souled, brave-hearted, yet impotent, regarding them. For
some power willed it that misery alone could hold out a helping hand to
misery, that vice and degradation must rise to thrust back vice and
degradation. The fallen creature was to be the protector, the unredeemed
to be the redeemer. Doctor Levillier knew this when he saw Julian's
long glance into the hollow eyes of Cuckoo. And he thrilled with the
knowledge. It seemed to him a great demonstration of the root, the core,
of divine pity which he believed to be the centre of the scheme of the
world. Round this centre revolved wheels within wheels of cruelty, of
agony, of ruthless passions and of lawless bitterness. Yet they radiated
from pity. They radiated from love. How it was so he could not tell, and
there the pessimist had him by the throat. But that it was so he felt in
his inmost heart, and never more than now, when the tired boy sneered at
him, who was an old friend, clean of life, gentle of nature, and turned
to this girl, this thing that loathsome men played with and scorned.
Pages:
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532