“I will give myself the lie: invite the hatred and scorn of the world: swear my soul to damnation by acknowledging myself an impostor, if that will make you merciful and kind--no, not even kind, but to take me with you. I will admit I am vile in all but my love: that you tempted me unwittingly: that you had no thought of being cruel--of being anything but your own gracious self, to whom a foolish maiden’s heart fled crying because it could not help it!” Catching glimpse in her passion of the stony impassibility of his face, she fell upon her knees, clasping her arms about him and sobbing-- “You must speak--you must speak, or I shall die! You don’t know what binds me to you. Not your love, or your respect or pity: only a little mercy--just enough, one finger held out to save me from falling into the abyss! Look here and here! Am I not white and sweet? I have cherished myself ever since you went and my heart nearly broke. I have thought all day and all night, ‘What bar to his approach can I remove if some day he shall come again?’ And when at last I saw you were returned, I would have given all the vain months of adulation for one glad word of welcome from your lips.” She grovelled lower, writhing her face down into her arms. “Only to be yours!” she moaned: “to do with as you will.” At that at last he stooped, and dragged her forcibly to her feet. She stood before him trembling and dishevelled, and he glared at her, breathing heavily like one that had run a race. “Before God, I never knew,” he said: “but you shame me and yourself. I will believe your story if you wish it; and what does that lead to?--that I hear you abusing the high choice of Heaven--misapplying God’s truth to the abominable sophistries of passion. Not love, but the foulest--there! I won’t shame you more. I think I have never heard such subtle blasphemy. To hope to influence me by casuistry so crooked! If you ever awakened my interest, you have lost the power for ever. Mercy! the utmost I can show you is by passing here and now out of your life----” She broke in with an agonised cry-- “_Mon Dieu_! Oh, my God! Not so to stultify all I have suffered and done for your sake!” “What you have done!” he cried fiercely. “I am no party to the vile chicanery. For your sufferings--they will cease when the fuel of this passion is withdrawn. Such fires blaze up and out in a day.” He was cruel, no doubt--crueller than he meant to be; but his heart was wrathful over the baseness of the snare set for it. On the echo of his voice there came the sound of approaching steps up the road. He recovered his composure on the instant. “You will have visitors,” he said. “You had best go and make yourself fit to meet them. You will know where your interests lie. For me, the most I can do is to treat all this as a mad confidence.” He was going; but she pressed upon him, panting and desperate.