E did not go near her for three days. During all that time he was battling with his own soul.
So strange and powerful was the impression made by the conversation of Helena, that the whole current of his life seemed changed.
All his former independent course of action, which he had justified with a thousand arguments, all his selfish years of pleasure, all his Arcadian existence with Dolores, loomed up before him now as lawless and wicked.
"No wonder my mother's pure spirit fled from me to the most distant borders of the spirit world," he said. "How unworthy her sweet companionship I am—and yet I might become worthy."
But how could he go to Dolores, and tell her that their life together was a terrible mistake: that they must part at once, and forever?
And if he did not, how could he ever hope to attain that ideal of high, noble manhood, which would alone fit him for the companionship of his mother's spirit, here or hereafter?
He suffered the agonies of the damned, all those days. He shunned the streets for fear of meeting Dolores: the Club seemed hateful to him, and he remained shut in his own apartments, a prey to gloomy thoughts.
And then one of those curious caprices of Fate occurred, which again compelled him to stifle the voice of his conscience.
It often seems in this life, when a soul is floundering in a net-work of Sin's weaving, striving to extricate itself, that the Devil, like a great spider, comes along and spins new meshes about it.
A messenger brought Percy a note from Dolores one day. He opened it hastily and read: