"Heaven! What have I done?" exclaimed he. "The vapor, the influence of that brute force,-it has bewildered me and obscured my perception. I have made the very stroke-the fatal stroke-that I have dreaded from the first. It is all over-the toil of months, the object of my life. I am ruined!"
And there he sat, in strange despair, until his lamp flickered in the socket and left the Artist of the Beautiful in darkness.