I
could not have believed it possible, if it had been told of me, that, one
minute affected by beautiful and sacred remembrances, the next I should
be yielding to the unimpassioned tyranny of a woman who could never be
anything but a stumbling-block and an evil influence. I had yet to learn
that in times of mental and moral struggle the mixed fighting forces in
us resolve themselves into two cohesive powers, and strive for mastery;
that no past thought or act goes for nothing at such a time, but creeps
out from the darkness where we thought it had gone for ever, and does
battle with its kind against the common foe. There moved before my sight
three women: one, sweet and unsubstantial, wistful and mute and very
young, not of the earth earthy; one, lissom, grave, with gracious body
and warm abstracted eyes, all delicacy, strength, reserve; the other and
last, daring, cold, beautiful, with irresistible charm, silent and
compelling. And these are the three women who have influenced my life,
who fought in me then for mastery; one from out the unchangeable past,
the others in the tangible and delible present.
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