Was he a knave?  He wanted honestly to know.  He had not tried to make her love him.  Had he known in time he would even have warned her against it.  He would never have said he loved her had she not first, as she thought, found it out; to tell her the truth then would have been brutal.  He had made believe in order that she might remain happy.  Was it even make-belief?  Assuredly he did love her in his own way, in the only way he was capable of.  She was far more to him than any other person except Elspeth.  He delighted in her, and would have fought till he dropped rather than let any human being injure her.  All his feelings for her were pure.  He was prepared to marry her; but if she had not made that mistake, oh, what a delight it would have been to him never to marry anyone!  He felt keenly miserable.

“Grizel, I seem to be different from all other men.  There seems to be some curse upon me that makes me unable to love as they do.  I want to love you, dear one; you are the only woman I ever wanted to love; but apparently I can’t.  I have decided to go on with this thing because it seems best for you; but is it?  I would tell you all and leave the decision to you, were it not that I fear you would think I wanted you to let me off.”

It would have been an honest speech, and he might have said it had he begun at once, for it was in a passion to be out, so desirous was he that dear Grizel should not be deceived; but he tried its effect first upon himself, and as he went on the tragedy he saw mastered him.  He forgot that she was there, except as a figure needed to complete the picture of the man who could not love.  He saw himself a splendidly haggard creature with burning eyes standing aside while all the world rolled by in pursuit of the one thing needful.  It was a river, and he must stand parched on the bank for ever and ever.  Should he keep that sorrowful figure a man or turn it into a woman?  He tried a woman.  She was on the bank now, her arms outstretched to the flood.  Ah! she would be so glad to drink, though she must drown.

Grizel saw how mournful he had become as he gazed upon her.  In his face she had been seeing all the glories that can be given to mortals.  Thoughts had come to her that drew her nearer to her God.  Her trust in him stretched to eternity.  All that was given to her at that moment she thought was also given to him.  She seemed to know why, with love lighting up their souls to each other, he could yet grow mournful.

“Oh,” she cried, with a movement that was a passionate caress, “do you indeed love me so much as that?  I never wanted you to love me quite so much as that!”

It brought him back to himself, but without a start.  Those sudden returns to fact had ceased to bewilder him; they were grown so common that he passed between dreams and reality as through tissue-paper.

“I did not mean,” she said at last, in a tremor, “that I wanted you to love me less, but I am almost sorry that you love me quite so much.”