She withdrew into the hall.
CHAPTER XI
I
More sin is attributed to the ruling passion of a man than to the forbidden pleasures of the world, or the violent assaults of the Evil One. Under its domination and tyranny the soul suffers shipwreck and destruction on the rocks of despair and final impenitence. It frequently lies buried beneath the most imperturbable countenance, manifesting itself only at times, often on the occasion of some unusual joy or sadness. It responds to one antidote; but the antidote requires a man of coarse fiber for its self-administration.
In this respect General Arnold was not a strong man. If he had acted upon himself wholly from without, as if he were not himself, and had cultivated a spirit of humility and abnegation of self, together with a considerateness and softness of manner towards those at whose hands he had suffered, he would have stifled his pangs of wounded pride and self-love, and emerged a victor over himself in the contest. He might have recognized his own imperfections to a tolerable degree which would have disinclined him to censoriousness, not to say rashness. By maintaining an evenness of temper and equality of spirits during the days of his sore affliction, he might have reconsidered his decisions of haste and ultimate disaster, and be led to the achievement of newer and nobler triumphs.
But he did not. Instead he gave way at once to a violence of anger which was insurmountable. There was engendered within him feelings of revenge of the most acrid nature. His self-love had been humiliated and crushed before the eyes of a garrulous world. His vanity and his prestige had been ground in the dust. There was no consideration save the determination for an immediate and effectual revenge.
"Don't worry, my dear," Peggy had whispered to him on the way home. "Try not to think of it."
"Think of it?... God! I'll show them. They'll pay for this."