His quarrel was too
fierce for that. His quarrel with God made trust, made mere belief even,
impossible, and he was aware that it was not new, that this was only the
culminating hour of a long rebellion.
CHAPTER VII.
THE WILD WAVES WHIST.
Next morning, when Caius walked forth into the glory of the April
sunshine, he felt himself to be a poor, wretched man. There was not a
fisherman upon the island, lazy, selfish as they were, and despised in
his eyes, that did not appear to him to be a better man than he. All the
force of training and habit made the thing that he was going to do
appear despicable; but all the force of training and habit was not
strong enough to make his judgment clear or direct his will.
The muddy road was beginning to steam in the sunshine; the thin shining
ice of night that coated its puddles was melting away. In the green
strip by the roadside he saw the yellow-tufted head of a dandelion just
level with the grass. The thicket of stunted firs on either side smelt
sweet, and beyond them he saw the ice-field that dazzled his eyes, and
the blue sea that sparkled. From this side he could not see the bay and
the ship of fate lying at anchor, but he noticed with relief that the
ice was not much less.
There was no use in thinking or feeling; he must go on and do what was
to be done. So he told himself.
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