“I can not come,” she wailed in anguish.  “Have you no mercy?—­no pity for me?  There is a barrier between us that I dare not level; a chasm I can not cross.”

“There is no barrier,” responded Thorne, vehemently, “and I will acknowledge none.  I am a free man; you are a free woman, and there is no law, human or divine, to keep us asunder, save the law of your own will.  If there be a chasm—­which I do not see; which I swear does not exist—­I will cross it.  If you can not come to me, I can come to you; and I will.  You are mine, and I will hold you—­here in my arms, on my breast, in my heart.  Have you, and hold you, so help me God!”

With a quick stride he crossed the small space between them, and stood close, but still not touching her.

“Have you no pity?” she moaned.

“None,” he answered hoarsely.  “Have you any for me?—­for us both?  I love you—­how well, God knows, I was not aware until to-night—­and you love me I hope and believe.  There is nothing between us save an idle scruple, which even the censorious world does not share.  I ask you to commit no sin; to share no disgrace.  I ask you to be my wife before the face of day; before the eyes of men; in the sight of heaven!”

Could she be his wife in the sight of heaven?  It was all so strange to her, she could not understand.  Words, carelessly heard and scarcely heeded, came back to her, and rung their changes in her brain with ceaseless iteration.  It was like a knell.

“Nesbit?” she said wearily, using his name unconsciously, “listen and understand me.  In the eyes of the law, and of men you are free; but I can not see it so.  In my eyes you are still bound.”

“I am not bound,” denied Thorne, fiercely, bringing his hand down heavily on the mantle; “whoever tells you that I am, lies, and the truth is not in him.  I’ve told you all—­and yet not all.  Ethel Ross, the woman who was my wife—­whom you say is my wife still—­is about to marry again.  To join her life—­as free and separate from mine as though we had never met—­to the life of another man.  Isn’t that enough?  Can’t you see how completely every tie between us is severed?”

Pocahontas shook her head.  “I can not understand you, and you will not understand me,” she said mournfully; “her sin will not lessen our sin; nor her unholy marriage make ours pure and righteous.”

Thorne stamped his foot.  “Do you wish to madden me?” he exclaimed; “there is no sin, I tell you; nor would our marriage be unholy.  You are torturing us both for nothing on God’s earth but a scruple.  I’ve argued, reasoned, and pleaded with you, and you refuse to weigh the argument, to listen to the reason, to yield to the persuasion.  You are hard, and opinionated, and obstinate.  You set up your individual judgment against the verdict of the world and deem it infallible.  You are hard to yourself, and cruelly hard to me,