‘Command you?’
‘He said that we must not break our words. He would not hear me, when I told him that we could deny having promised. I said that promises made over the wine need never be kept. Who ever heard of keeping them? And Orestes was drunk, too. But he said that I might teach a Goth to be what I liked, except a liar.... Was not that a strange speech?.... And Wulf bade him be strong, and blest him for it.’
‘He was right,’ sobbed Philammon.
‘Then I thought he would love me for obeying him, though I loathed it!—Oh, God, how I loathed it!.... But how could I fancy that he did not like my doing it? Who ever heard of any one doing of their own will what they did not like?’
Philammon sobbed again, as the poor civilised savage artlessly opened to him all her moral darkness. What could he say?.... he knew what to say. The disease was so utterly patent, that any of Cyril’s school-children could have supplied the remedy. But how to speak it?—how to tell her, before all things, as he longed to do, that there was no hope of her marrying the Amal, and, therefore, no peace for her till she left him.
‘Then you did hate the—the—’ said he, at last, catching at some gleam of light.
‘Hate it? Do I not belong, body and soul, to him?—him only?.... And yet.... Oh, I must tell you all! When I and the girls began to practise, all the old feelings came back—the love of being admired, and applauded, and cheered; and dancing is so delicious!—so delicious to feel that you are doing anything beautiful perfectly, and better than every one else!.... And he saw that I liked it, and despised me for it.... And, deceitful!—he little guessed how much of the pains which I took were taken to please him, to do my best before him, to win admiration, only that I might take it home and throw it all at his beloved feet, and make the world say once more, “She has all Alexandria to worship her, and yet she cares for that one Goth more than for—” But he deceived me, true man that he is! He wished to enjoy my smiles to the last moment, and then to cast me off, when I had once given him an excuse.... Too cowardly to upbraid me, he let me ruin myself, to save him the trouble of ruining me. Oh, men, men! all alike! They love us for their own sakes, and we love them for love’s sake. We live by love, we die for love, and yet we never find it, but only selfishness dressed up in love’s mask.... And then we take up with that, poor, fond, self-blinded creatures that we are!—and in spite of the poisoned hearts around us, persuade ourselves that our latest asp’s egg, at least, will hatch into a dove, and that though all men are faithless, our own tyrant can never change, for he is more than man!’
‘But he has deceived you! You have found out your mistake. Leave him, then, as he deserves!’
Pelagia looked up, with something of a tender smile. ‘Poor darling! Little do you know of love!’
Philammon, utterly bewildered by this newest and strangest phase of human passion, could only gasp out—