“Poor woman ... how can I ... how can I?” he stammered, humbled in the dust; and she started up with a fierce cry of mad fury. “Wherefore, then, did you take me? wherefore entice me? wherefore lead me on to sin?” “Hush, hush! All the village will be here!” Once more she fell on his breast, embraced and kissed him frenziedly, and exclaimed with all the might of her love and terror and despair: “O my only one, my chosen one amid a thousand! Slay me, but repel me not!—Do you love me, say? do you love me?—Then comfort me this once, for the last time; gather me in your arms and leave me not to agony and ruin!—You are all I have in the whole wide world; yea, all! Let me but stay with you.... I’ll serve you as faithfully as any dog ... aye, I’ll be your slave!” Such were the words of passion she sobbed out, wrung from the bottom of her broken heart. Matthew was as one held in a vice, and squirming and writhing to get free. Avoiding a straightforward answer, he strove to soothe her with kisses and caresses and words of affection, agreeing to all she said, and all the while looking around with impatience and dread; for he suspected that John was sitting on the stile just outside. A moment later, the true state of things flashed suddenly on Teresa’s mind: she thrust him from her, with words that struck him like blows: “Liar and cur! You have always lied to me, but never shall you deceive me any more!... You are afraid—afraid lest John beat you; and therefore you turn and twist now, like a trodden worm! And I trusted to him as to the best of men? O Lord, O Lord! And John, who has been so good to me! The presents he has brought—presents for _me_!—Never yet did I hear him speak an unkind word; and how have I repaid him? By giving my trust to a traitor, to a villain!... Go your ways to Yagna!” she shrieked, rushing towards him with clenched fists. “Go—and may the hangman wed you both!—A well-matched pair—a wanton and a thief!” And with an awful shriek, she fell fainting to the ground. Matthew stood beside her, at a loss what to do; his mother sat whimpering by the wall.—Then John strode in from the orchard to his wife, and spoke to her ... words of tender sorrowing consolation. “Come to my home, forlorn one, come! Fear me not; I shall do you no hurt! Oh, no! you have suffered enough as it is.—Come, my wife!” He took her by the hand, and helped her over the stile; then, turning to Matthew, he thundered: “But the wrong you have done her, never will I forgive—never while there’s life in me!—So help me God!” Choked with shame, Matthew answered never a word. His soul was full of such bitterness, such grinding torments, that he flew to the tavern and drank all night long. The event was at once known throughout the village, and all were full of admiration and respect for John’s conduct.