To Elizabeth, sitting there in friendly idleness by the fire, the thrill in his voice was like some palpable touch against her breast. Without knowing why, she put her hand up, as if warding something off. She was bewildered; her heart began to beat violently. Instantly, at the sight of the lovely, startled face, the rein broke. He forgot David, he forgot his god, with whom he had been juggling words for the last two months, he forgot everything, except the single, eternal, primitive purpose: _there was the woman he wanted_. And all his life, if he had wanted anything, he had had it. With a stifled cry, he caught her hand: "Elizabeth--I love you!" "Stop!" she said, outraged and astounded; "stop this instant!" "I _must_ speak to you." "You shall not speak to me!" She was on her feet, trying with trembling fingers to put on her hat. "Elizabeth, wait!" he panted, "wait; listen--I must speak--" And before she knew it, he had caught her in his arms, and she felt his breath on her mouth. She pushed him from her, gasping almost, and looking at him in anger and horror. "How dare you?" "Listen; only one minute!" "I will not listen one second. Let me out of this room--out of this house!" "Elizabeth, forgive me! I am mad!" "You _are_ mad. I will never forgive you. Stand aside. Open the door." "Elizabeth, I love you! I love you! Won't you listen--?" But she had gone, flaming with anger and humiliation. When Nannie came in an hour later, her brother was sitting with his head bowed in his hands. The room was quite dark; the fire had died down. The fire of passion had died down, too, leaving only shame and misery and despair. His eyes, hidden in his bent arms, were wet; he was shaken to the depths of his being. For the first time in his life he had come against a thwarted desire. The education that should have been spread over his whole twenty-five years, an education that would have taught him how to meet the negations of life, of duty, of pity even, burst upon him now in one shattering moment. He had broken his law, his own law; and, mercifully, his law was breaking him. When he rose to his feet as his sister came into the room, he staggered under the shock of such concentrated education. "Blair! What _is_ it?" she said, catching his arm. "Nothing. Nothing. I've been a fool. Let me go." "But tell me! I'm frightened. Blair!" "It's nothing, I tell you. Nannie! Will she ever look at me again? Oh no, no; she will never forgive me! Why was I such a fool?" "What _are_ you talking about?" poor Nannie said. It came into her head that he had suddenly gone out of his senses. Blair sank down again in a heap on his chair. "I've been a damned fool. I'm in love with Elizabeth, and--and I told her so." CHAPTER XVIII