She spoke no word, but watched him, fascinated.
"Ay, poor, ignorant fool that I was! But now do I wot right well that it cometh not out of heaven, but of hell, woman, of hell, of hell!
"See!" he cried, grasping her suddenly by the shoulders so that she winced with pain. "See, I have sought to flee thee, I have sought to escape by every means in my power. Even now am I on my way to shut out the sight of thee in a cell at St. Dunstan's. I have prayed, and I have scourged and chastised myself—but all in vain, still it conquers me, it tortures me, this terrible power that from time immemorial hath been the snare and curse of man—the carnal love of woman."
He noticed that his grasp hurt her, but he did not care.
"I held myself," he continued, "even I, above the Holy Fathers, above the Saints, above temptation. I thought it might be given to man to love tenderly and chastely. Tenderly! O my God! tenderly! Listen. I love thee, but there is nothing whatever of tenderness in my love, for I warn thee it hath turned me into a foul demon. Flee me, flee me while there is yet time, flee me, for there is naught of Christ's tender, beautiful love in this. Nay, I tell thee the Fathers were right, the love of man for woman is a cursed, cursed thing."
And making the sign of the cross, he sank upon the ground, face down, that he could no longer look upon her.
There was something in his helplessness as he lay there, that appealed to her better side, to that elemental mother-nature that lies somewhere, however deep down, in the worst woman. The swift thought to revenge herself for his humiliation of her, to keep him by her until the arrival of the Baron and then to hold him up to ridicule and scorn—was put aside as quickly as it was conceived. She would slip away noiselessly and let him forget her if he could. She would even pray that he might be able to. He looked so utterly worn and ill that her tenderness went a bit too far. With a sudden impulsive movement she bent low and laid one hand lightly upon one hollow temple. In an instant he sprang up wildly, fiercely, but she had slipped quickly behind the broad trunk of an old oak and he gazed about him stupidly. Had it all been but a wild fantasy of his overstrained brain? He had sprung up determined to clasp her in his arms. His struggle was at an end, he could fight no longer.
"For this was I crucified? Thou hast crucified me again."
The plaintive words rose and fell soft and sweet through the woods.