A Monk of Cruta

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

"And by what right did you dare to thrust yourself between us?" I cried. "What have I to do with you, or you with me?"

He held up his hands for a moment, as though to shut out the sight of my face, ablaze with scorn and hatred. There was a short silence. Then he spoke in a low tone, vibrating with intensity of feeling.

"You know! In your heart you know!" he said. "Into my life has come the greatest humiliation which can befall such as I am! In sorrow and bitterness it has eaten itself into my heart. I am accursed in my own sight, and in the sight of God!"

I mocked at him. "I am not your confessor!" I laughed. "Go and tell your sins to those of your own order! I am a woman and you are a priest! Why do you look at me with that light in your eyes? Am I a prayer-book? Is there anything saintly in my face, that you should keep your eyes fixed upon it so steadily?"

I had hoped that my words would madden him, and he would lose his self-control. To my surprise, they had but little effect. He seemed scarcely to have heard.

"What have you to do with me, or I with you?" he repeated, in a voice which was rapidly gaining strength and passion. "God knows! Yet as surely as we both live, our lots are intertwined the one with the other."

"A godly priest!" I laughed. "What have you to do with me? What of your vows? Oh, how dare you try to play the lover with me! You hypocrite!"

He shrank back as though in pain. I laughed outright, glad that I had made him feel.

"Adrea!" he said slowly. "I was never a hypocrite to you. In your presence I have never breathed a word of my religion. Think for a moment of those days at Cruta. Did I not refuse to confess you? Why? You know! Because of those long, dreamy days we spent together, not as priest and penitent, but as man and woman. Do you remember them—the cliffs, with their giant shadows standing out across the blue waters of the harbour; the hollows, where we sat amongst the perfumed wild flowers, gazing across the sea, and watching the white sails in the distance; the nights, with their white moonlight and silent grandeur! Ay, Adrea! look me in the face, if you can, and tell me that you have forgotten them! You cannot! You dare not! It was you who brought me those books of wild, passionate poetry whose music entered into my very soul! It was you who tempted me with soft words, with your music, with your beauty, into that world of sense which holds me prisoner for ever. What I once was, I can never be again! It is you who worked the change—you who awoke my man's heart, and set it beating for ever at your touch, at your movements, at the sight of you. It is you who taught me how to love—who opened to me the rose-covered gates of hell! There is no drawing back! You, who have dragged me down, shall share my fall with me, for better or for worse! You shall not escape! No other man shall have you! I have paid the price, and I will have you!"