"Instead of which," said I, speaking (as it were), despite
myself, "instead of which, you find me only a blacksmith--a low,
despicable fellow eager to take advantage of your unprotected
womanhood." She did not speak standing tall and straight, her
head thrown back; wherefore, reading her scorn of me in her eyes,
seeing the proud contempt of her mouth, a very demon seemed
suddenly to possess me, for certainly the laugh that rang from my
lip, proceeded from no volition of mine.
"And yet, madam," my voice went on, "this despicable blacksmith
fellow refused one hundred guineas for you to-day."
"Peter!" she cried, and shrank away from me as if I had
threatened to strike her.
"Ah!--you start at that--your proud lip trembles--do not fear,
madam--the sum did not tempt him--though a large one."
"Peter!" she cried again, and now there was a note of appeal in
her voice.
"Indeed, madam, even so degraded a fellow as this blacksmith
could not very well sell that which he does not possess--could
he? And so the hundred guineas go a-begging, and you are still
--unsold!" Long before I had done she had covered her face again,
and, coming near, I saw the tears running out between her fingers
and sparkling as they fell. And once again the devil within me
laughed loud and harsh. But, while it still echoed, I had flung
myself down at her feet.
"Charmian," I cried, "forgive me--you will, you must!" and,
kneeling before her, I strove to catch her gown, and kiss its
hem, but she drew it close about her, and, turning, fled from me
through the shadows.
Heedless of all else but that she was leaving me, I stumbled to
my feet and followed. The trees seemed to beset me as I ran, and
bushes to reach out arms to stay me, but I burst from them,
running wildly, blunderingly, for she was going--Charmian was
leaving me. And so, spent and panting, I reached the cottage,
and met Charmian at the door. She was clad in the long cloak she
had worn when she came, and the hood was drawn close about her
face.
I stood panting in the doorway, barring her exit.
"Let me pass, Peter."
"By God--no!" I cried, and, entering, closed the door, and leaned
my back against it.
And, after we had stood thus awhile, each looking upon the other,
I reached out my hands to her, and my hands were torn and bloody.
"Don't go, Charmian," I mumbled, "don't go! Oh, Charmian--I'm
hurt--I didn't want you to know, but you mustn't leave me--I am
not--well; it is my head, I think. I met Black George, and he
was too strong for me. I'm deaf, Charmian, and half blinded--oh,
don't leave me--I'm afraid, Charmian!" Her figure grew more
blurred and indistinct, and I sank down upon my knees; but in the
dimness I reached out and found her hands, and clasped them, and
bowed my aching head upon them, and remained thus a great while,
as it seemed to me.