“Oh, Miriamne, who is it decrees that we, belonging, all, each, to the other, should be torn asunder ruthlessly? Duty, conscience! Hard metallic words when they describe the links of a chain! Ah, our misconceptions often bind us to pain; this one I cannot bear!”
“And yet, Cornelius, you told me in that Adriatic storm you could as easily drown a passion rising against righteousness as you could drown the body then, by a plunge into the billows!”
“You held me back when I moved forward to show how easily I could make the plunge.”
“But then you had no intention of leaping to death!”
“Not while held back by Miriamne!”
“I? Poor, weak I, hold you?”
“To me your touch has ever had persuasion and might! Oh, woman, you lead me captive to your will in chains riveted, unyielding, and yet of golden delights.”
“Say not so. We have each a great mission, but apart.”
“Apart! The decree that settles our courses that way is monstrous. It is not of God. He ordained that our race go in pairs. And when He set up the new kingdom of Jesus, its heralding disciples were sent forth two by two. As Moses needed his Hobab, Christ his confidants, so need I a yoke-fellow. I’ve no ambition to live, much less to work, unless I have my heart’s idol with me.”
“Illusion.”