But it changes now!
He sees Mary his sweetheart, wan and pale, with tears in her eyes for him whose voice she may never hear again.
For the tempter has come with gold and with golden promises.
And he has fallen!
Other men have fallen before. Why not he when so much was to be gained? So much of--nay, not of glory, but of gold. What is it that gold cannot do?
A conscience? Yes, he had possessed one once. But this tempter had laughed heartily when he talked of so old-fashioned a possession. It was all a matter of business.
Behold those wealthy men who glide past in their beautiful landaus. Did they have consciences? If they did, then, instead of a town and country house, their home would soon be the garret vile in some back slum in London.
Again the dream changes. To the fearful and awful now. For, stretched out before him is Mary, wan and worn--Mary, DEAD!
He awakes with a shriek, and sits up with his back against the black rock.
His hand touches something cold. It is a skull, and he shudders as he thrusts it away.