"Once there was a woman I thought I loved; but she would have none of it. She said that the love I gave her was not complete because she did not return it. She brought forth the subject of affinities, and ventured to say that some day I might meet mine. I scoffed inwardly. I have now found what she said to be true. The love I gave her was the bud; the rose-- Gretchen," said I, rising, "I love you; I am not a hypocrite; I cannot parade my regard for you under the flimsy guise of friendship." "Go and give the rose to her to whom you gave the bud," said Gretchen. The half smile struck me as disdainful. "You are a strange wooer." "I am an honest one." I began plucking at the bark of the tree. "No; I shall let the rose wither and die on the stem. I shall leave to-morrow, Gretchen. I shall feel as Adam did when he went forth from Eden. Whatever your place in this world is it is far above mine. I am, in truth, a penniless adventurer. The gulf between us cannot be bridged." "No," said Gretchen, the smile leaving her lips, "the gulf cannot be bridged. You are a penniless adventurer, and I am a fugitive from--the law, the King, or what you will. You are a man; man forgets. You have just illustrated the fact. His memory and his promises are like the smoke; they fade away but soon. I shall be sorry to have you go, but it is best so." "Do you love any one else?" "I do not; I love no one in the sense you mean. It was not written that I should love any man." "Gretchen, who are you, and what have you done?" "What have I done? Nothing! Who am I? Nobody!" "Is that the only answer you can give?" "It is the only answer I will give." There was something in Gretchen's face which awed me. It was power and resolution, two things man seldom sees in a woman's face. "Supposing, Gretchen, that I should take you in my arms and kiss you?" I was growing reckless because I felt awed, which seems rather a remarkable statement. "I know you only as a barmaid; why, not?" She never moved to go away. There was no alarm in her eyes, though they narrowed. "You would never forgive yourself, would you?" I thought for a moment. "No, Gretchen, I should never forgive myself. But I know that if I ask you to let me kiss your hand before I go, you will grant so small a favor." "There," and her hand stretched toward me. "And what will your kiss mean?" "That I love you, but also respect you, and that I shall go." "I am sorry."