He found it again, remembering.
Mors janua vitæ.
The Canon had proclaimed it, as a joyful certainty. Approached far otherwise, Owen could yet proclaim it, too, as the supreme and ultimate Fact to be faced, of which the true realization would strike forever the balance between optimism and pessimism.
He turned towards the entrance again, and as he did so the blinds of Canon Morchard’s room were drawn down, by a careful, unseen hand.
V
OWEN AND LUCILLA
(i)
It was nearly a year later that Owen Quentillian went to Torquay to see Lucilla Morchard, and asked her to marry him.
Nothing in the occasional letters that they had exchanged could have been regarded as in any way indicative of such a dénouement, and for once Owen saw Lucilla thoroughly disconcerted.
“But why?” she demanded, in a tone at once wistful and indignant.
Her face was pale and lined, but her eyes had lost neither humour nor sanity of outlook.