She willed it so: he was to track the yellow ray. He pleads once more her own permission—nay, command! And, as before, she shows
"Scarce recognition, no approval, some
Mistrust, more wonder at a man become
Monstrous in garb, nay—flesh-disguised as well,
Through his adventure."
But she had said that, if he were worthily to retain her love, he must share the knowledge shrined in her supernal eyes. And this was the one way for man to gain that knowledge. Well, it is as before:
"I pass into your presence, I receive
Your smile of pity, pardon, and I leave."
But no! This time he will not leave, he will not dumbly bend to his penance. Hitherto he has trusted her word that the feat can be achieved, the ray trod to its edge, yet he return unsmirched. He has tried the experiment—and returned, "absurd as frightful." This is his last word.
". . . No, I say:
No fresh adventure! No more seeking love
At end of toil, and finding, calm above
My passion, the old statuesque regard,
The sad petrific smile!"
And he turns upon her with a violent invective. She is not so much hard and hateful as mistaken and obtuse.
"You very woman with the pert pretence
To match the male achievement!"
Who could not be victorious when all is made easy, when the rough effaces itself to smooth, the gruff "grinds down and grows a whisper"; when man's truth subdues its rapier-edge to suit the bulrush spear that womanly falsehood fights with? Oh woman's ears that will not hear the truth! oh woman's "thrice-superfine feminity of sense," that ignores, as by right divine, the process, and takes the spotless result from out the very muck that made it!