The devil had got hold of him for the time; and after the fit was over, he shuddered when he remembered how wild and wicked his fancies had been—how, in a moment, it had seemed as if all the good of years of careful training had run out of him, and left him a fiend without conscience or fear, capable of any deed, if by it he could but compass his desires.
And so it is with all of us at times. The passionate temptations of a man reveal to him, in flashes, what horrible depths of possible sin lurk in his nature—hidden unsuspected, awaiting their opportunity.
But he had clasped that slight, girlish form in his arms—he had kissed that unkissed mouth, and drawn madness from it—he was the slave of his passion for better or for worse.
Even when he thought more calmly over the whole matter on the following day, he still knew that his love for the girl was altogether his master. He still determined to press his suit.
Even were she really bad, he must risk all, and make her his. But he knew that she was not really bad in heart, though she might have been in action. He would gain her confidence, share with her her repentance for her sin, take on himself her burden. Even had she been the most abandoned of creatures, he would take her to his arms now. Go back he could not—would not.
And yet, of all men this was the one whom none would have suspected capable of making a rash marriage. Ah! how little we know how we ourselves would behave when the moment comes! We are all of us mad and weak then—yes, every one of us.