“You pity me!” she cried. “What lie is that which says that there is a kinship between pity and love? Think well--beware--be warned. I have told you much, but you do not know me yet. If you save me, you save me but to love you more than I do already. Look at me. For me there is neither God, nor hell, nor pride, nor shame. There is nothing that I will not do, nothing I shall be ashamed or afraid of doing. If you save me, you save me that I may follow you as long as I live. I will never leave you. You shall never escape my presence, your whole life shall be full of me--you do not love me, and I can threaten you with nothing more intolerable than myself. Your eyes will weary of the sight of me and your ears at the sound of my voice. Do you think I have no hope? A moment ago I had none. But I see it now. Whether you will, or not, I shall be yours. You may make a prisoner of me--I shall be in your keeping then, and shall know it, and feel it, and love my prison for your sake, even if you will not let me see you. If you would escape from me, you must kill me, as Israel Kafka means to kill me now--and then, I shall die by your hand and my life will have been yours and given to you. How can you think that I have no hope! I have hope--and certainty, for I shall be near you always to the end--always, always, always! I will cling to you--as I do now--and say, I love you, I love you--yes, and you will cast me off, but I will not go--I will clasp your feet, and say again, I love you, and you may spurn me--man, god, wanderer, devil,--whatever you are--beloved always! Tread upon me, trample on me, crush me--you cannot save yourself, you cannot kill my love!” She had tried to take his hand and he had withdrawn his, she had fallen upon her knees, and as he tried to free himself had fallen almost to her length upon the marble floor, clinging to his very feet, so that he could make no step without doing her some hurt. He looked down, amazed and silent, and as he looked she cast one glance upward to his stern face, the bright tears streaming like falling gems from her unlike eyes, her face pale and quivering, her rich hair all loosened and falling about her. And then, neither body, nor heart, nor soul, could bear the enormous strain that was laid upon them. A low cry broke from her lips, a stormy sob, another and another, like quick short waves breaking over the bar when the tide is low and the wind is rising suddenly.