Even to her there was something awful in his powerless, motionless presence.  The noble face, pale and set as under a mask, the thoughtful brow, the dominating features, were not those of a man born to be a plaything to the will of a woman.  The commanding figure towered in the grim surroundings like a dark statue, erect, unmoving, and in no way weak.  And yet she knew that she had but to speak and the figure would move, the lips would form words, the voice would reach her ear.  He would raise this hand or that, step forwards or backwards, at her command, affirm what she bid him affirm, and deny whatever she chose to hear denied.  For a moment she wished that he had been as Keyork Arabian, stronger than she; then, with the half-conscious comparison the passion for the man himself surged up and drowned every other thought.  She almost forgot that for the time he was not to be counted among the living.  She went to him, and clasped her hands upon his shoulder, and looked up into his scarce-seeing eyes.

“You must love me,” she said, “you must love me because I love you so.  Will you not love me, dear?  I have waited so long for you!”

The soft words vibrated in his sleeping ear but drew forth neither acknowledgment nor response.  Like a marble statue he stood still, and she leaned upon his shoulder.

“Do you not hear me?” she cried in a more passionate tone.  “Do you not understand me?  Why is it that your love is so hard to win?  Look at me!  Might not any man be proud to love me?  Am I not beautiful enough for you?  And yet I know that I am fair.  Or are you ashamed because people call me a witch?  Why then I will never be one again, for your sake!  What do I care for it all?  Can it be anything to me—­can anything have worth that stands between me and you?  Ah, love—­be not so very hard!”

The Wanderer did not move.  His face was as calm as a sculptured stone.

“Do you despise me for loving you?” she asked again, with a sudden flush.

“No.  I do not despise you.”  Something in her tone had pierced through his stupor and had found an answer.  She started at the sound of his voice.  It was as though he had been awake and had known the weight of what she had been saying, and her anger rose at the cold reply.

“No—­you do not despise me, and you never shall!” she exclaimed passionately.  “You shall love me, as I love you—­I will it, with all my will!  We are created to be all, one to the other, and you shall not break through the destiny of love.  Love me, as I love you—­love me with all your heart, love me with all your mind, love me with all your soul, love me as man never loved woman since the world began!  I will it, I command it—­it shall be as I say—­you dare not disobey me—­you cannot if you would.”

She paused, but this time no answer came.  There was not even a contraction of the stony features.

“Do you hear all I say?” she asked.