I could bear it no longer.  I am but a man, and she was more than a woman.  Heaven knows what she was—­I do not!  But then and there I fell upon my knees before her, and told her in a sad mixture of languages—­for such moments confuse the thoughts—­that I worshipped her as never woman was worshipped, and that I would give my immortal soul to marry her, which at that time I certainly would have done, and so, indeed, would any other man, or all the race of men rolled into one.  For a moment she looked surprised, and then she began to laugh, and clap her hands in glee.

“Oh, so soon, oh Holly!” she said.  “I wondered how many minutes it would need to bring thee to thy knees.  I have not seen a man kneel before me for so many days, and, believe me, to a woman’s heart the sight is sweet, ay, wisdom and length of days take not from that dear pleasure which is our sex’s only right.

“What wouldst thou?—­what wouldst thou?  Thou dost not know what thou doest.  Have I not told thee that I am not for thee?  I love but one, and thou art not the man.  Ah Holly, for all thy wisdom—­and in a way thou art wise—­thou art but a fool running after folly.  Thou wouldst look into mine eyes—­thou wouldst kiss me!  Well, if it pleaseth thee, look,” and she bent herself towards me, and fixed her dark and thrilling orbs upon my own; “ay, and kiss too, if thou wilt, for, thanks be given to the scheme of things, kisses leave no marks, except upon the heart.  But if thou dost kiss, I tell thee of a surety wilt thou eat out thy breast with love of me, and die!” and she bent yet further towards me till her soft hair brushed my brow, and her fragrant breath played upon my face, and made me faint and weak.  Then of a sudden, even as I stretched out my hands to clasp, she straightened herself, and a quick change passed over her.  Reaching out her hand, she held it over my head, and it seemed to me that something flowed from it that chilled me back to common sense, and a knowledge of propriety and the domestic virtues.

“Enough of this wanton folly,” she said with a touch of sternness.  “Listen, Holly.  Thou art a good and honest man, and I fain would spare thee; but, oh! it is so hard for woman to be merciful.  I have said I am not for thee, therefore let thy thoughts pass by me like an idle wind, and the dust of thy imagination sink again into the depths—­well, of despair, if thou wilt.  Thou dost not know me, Holly.  Hadst thou seen me but ten hours past when my passion seized me, thou hadst shrunk from me in fear and trembling.  I am of many moods, and, like the water in that vessel, I reflect many things; but they pass, my Holly; they pass, and are forgotten.  Only the water is the water still, and I still am I, and that which maketh the water maketh it, and that which maketh me maketh me, nor can my quality be altered.  Therefore, pay no heed to what I seem, seeing that thou canst not know what I am.  If thou troublest me again I will veil myself, and thou shalt behold my face no more.”