“You know I did not; had I seen him I should have killed him, because—­I loved you.  I had set up an altar to you in my heart, where my soul might worship—­poor fool that I was!  I loved you with every breath I drew.  I think I must have shown you something of this, from time to time, for you are very clever, and you may have laughed over it together—­you and he.  And lately I have seen my altar foully desecrated, shattered, and utterly destroyed, and, with it, your sweet womanhood dragged in the mire, and yet—­I loved you still.  Can you imagine, I wonder, the agony of it, the haunting horrors of imagination, the bitter days, the sleepless nights?  To see you so beautiful, so glorious, and know you so base!  Indeed, I think it came near driving me mad.  It has sent me out into the night; I have held out my arms for the lightning to blast me; I have wished myself a thousand deaths.  If Black George had but struck a little harder —­or a little lighter; I am not the man I was before he thrashed me; my head grows confused and clouded at times—­would to God I were dead!  But now—­you would go!  Having killed my heart, broken my life, driven away all peace of mind—­you would leave me!  No, Charmian, I swear by God you shall not go—­yet awhile.  I have bought you very dear—­bought you with my bitter agony, and by all the blasting torments I have suffered.”

Now, as I ended, she sprang from the bed and faced me, but, meeting my look, she shrank a little, and drew her long hair about her like a mantle, then sought with trembling hands to hold me off.

“Peter—­be sane.  Oh, Peter! be merciful and let me go—­give me time—­let me explain.”

“My books,” said I, “have taught me that the more beautiful a woman’s face the more guileful is her heart; and your face is wonderfully beautiful, and, as for your heart—­you lied to me before.”

“I—­oh, Peter!—­I am not the poor creature you think me.”

“Were you the proudest lady in the land—­you have deceived me and mocked me and lied to me!” So saying, I reached out, and seized her by each rounded arm, and slowly drew her closer.  And now she strove no more against me, only in her face was bitter scorn, and an anger that cast out fear.

“I hate you—­despise you!” she whispered.  “I hate you more than any man was ever hated!”

Inch by inch I drew her to me, until she stood close, within the circle of my arms.

“And I think I love you more than any woman was ever loved!” said I; “for the glorious beauty of your strong, sweet body, for the temptation of your eyes, for the red lure of your lips!” And so I stooped and kissed her full upon the mouth.  She lay soft and warm in my embrace, all unresisting, only she shivered beneath my kiss, and a great sob rent her bosom.

“And I also think,” said I, “that, because of the perfidy of your heart, I hate you as much as you do me—­as much as ever woman, dead or living, was hated by man and shall—­forever!”