He dwelt upon that thought, that he had obeyed because he had been
obliged to obey. It was a palliative to his mental misery and his hatred
of himself. The fatalism that is linked with superstition got hold upon
him and comforted him a little. He had not been a free agent. He had had
to do as he had done. Everything had been arranged so that he might sin.
The night of the fishing had prepared the way for the night of the fair.
If Hermione had stayed--but of course she had not stayed. The spirit that
had kept him in Sicily had sent her across the sea to Africa. In the full
flush of his hot-blooded youth, intoxicated by his first knowledge of the
sun and of love, he had been left quite alone. Newly married, he had been
abandoned by his wife for a good, even perhaps a noble, reason. Still, he
had been abandoned--to himself and the keeping of that spirit. Was it any
wonder that he had fallen? He strove to think that it was not. In the
night he had cowered before Hermione and had been cruel with himself.
Now, in the sunshine, he showed fight. He strove to find excuses for
himself. If he did not find excuses he felt that he could not face the
day, face Hermione in sunlight.

And now that the spirit had led him thus far, surely its work was done,
surely it would leave him alone. He tried to believe that.