Fiction > Book editions > London, 1888 - Prince Otto

A ROMANCE 209
prisonment with something bordering on relief.
Here was, at least, a step which he thought
blameless ; here was a way out of his troubles.
He sat down to write to Seraphina ; and his anger
blazed. The tale of his forbearances mounted,
in his eyes, to something monstrous ; still more
monstrous, the coldness, egoism, and cruelty that
had required and thus requited them. The pen
which he had taken shook in his hand. He was
amazed to find his resignation fled, but it was gone
beyond his recall. In a few white-hot words, he
bade adieu, dubbing desperation by the name of
love, and calling his wrath forgiveness ; then he
cast but one look of leave-taking on the place
that had been his for so long and was now to be
his no longer ; and hurried forth — love's prisoner
— or pride's.
He took that private passage which he had
trodden so often in less momentous hours. The
porter let him out ; and the bountiful, cold air
of the night and the pure glory of the stars
received him on the threshold. He looked round
him, breathing deep of earth's plain fragrance ;
he looked up into the great array of heaven,
and was quieted. His Httle turgid life dwindled
to its true proportions ; and he saw himself
(that great flame-hearted martyr !) stand like a
speck, under the cool cupola of the night. Thus
he felt his careless injuries already soothed ; the
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