"No, no, I will not kill you--I meant not to harm you--pardon me. O, my God! why, oh why, is this woman so foul and yet so fair that heated rage is cooled, madness subdued to gentleness, and man's purposed revenge weeps itself to softness in woman's tears?" Covering his face with his hands he sank into a settee overpowered by the emotions which shook his frame. By this time Isabel had recovered from the terror into which Corianton's sudden rage had thrown her; and deeply read in man's moods and passions, she saw what an influence she held over the one now before her. Stealing softly to his side, and placing her hand on his shoulder she gently said: "Corianton, have you done well in thus proceeding? What have I done to merit such harsh treatment--such bitter words--how deserved it?" "What have you done?" he cried--"you came to me with a lie on your lips, deceit in your heart, and under the guise of innocence, purity and goodness sought to encompass my ruin!--Well madame, your plans have carried--I am undone--ruined! I can never return to my people, to them I am infamous--an outcast!" And again his form was convulsed in an agony of grief. "But may there not be some extenuating circumstances to free me from the harsh judgment you passed upon me? Trained from my childhood to hate your people, and taught that all means were proper that would lead to their destruction, the helpless instrument of unscrupulous men bent on defeating your mission to the Zoramites--is it any wonder that I undertook the part assigned me in the scheme? But Corianton," and she sank on her knees at his feet, "the moment I saw you--so noble in bearing--so young--my heart relented; I shrank from the performance of the wicked plot--but what was I to do? Had I told you the truth-- that I was Isabel--the infamy of that name would have steeled your heart against me--you would have driven me from you as an unclean thing; and your presence--the nobility which looked from your eyes, inspired me with love such as I have never known before--I experienced a longing for something better than I had known--a desire for purity, goodness, virtue, that I might be worthy of you; and even wicked and unclean as I am, hope whispered high promises to my woman's heart--'love will forgive and forget the past; it lives only in the present and for the future,' it said; but alas! it was a vain hope--I awake and find it dust! Oh, why is there so much difference between man and woman! No matter what the past of a man may have been, he hath but to repent, and all is forgiven--and, forgotten. But when a woman falls, 'tis never more to rise or be forgiven." These indirect appeals to him touched the gentler nature of Corianton, and bending over her as he took her hand, he said: "Nay, do not weep; if I have fallen I alone am to blame, I should have had better discretion. I am no coward to lay the blame upon another. I alone am to blame and I will alone bear the burden of God's displeasure."