Marsyas turned upon Classicus, and between the two there passed the silent communication of men who wholly understand each other. Then Classicus took up his kerchief, and, with a smile and a wave of his hand, walked out of the presiding-room.
But Lydia was out of reach of Marsyas' arms when he turned to her. Crying and afraid, she motioned him back as he pressed toward her.
He stopped.
"Am I still unacceptable to thee, Lydia?" he asked.
"O Marsyas, thou returnest in the same spirit as thou didst depart from me—unchanged, unchanged! But striving to change—for my sake! Do not so, for me! Not for me!"
The grief and pleading in the black eyes that rested upon her changed slowly. Rebuffed and stung he threw up his head.
"Better the old Essenic shape in which I was bound against thee and thou against me?" he said bitterly. "So! The Essenes seem not to be wrong in their teaching of distrust in women!"
If he expected her to retort, the compassion and gentleness in her answer surprised him.
"Not that, my Marsyas," she said, coming nearer to him in her earnestness. "But change does not consist in the raiment thou wearest, nor in the claim to be altered. Thou canst not in truth believe that I have done right! Thou forgivest me for thy love's sake, but thy intelligence is no less critical! I can not, will not put away the faith of the Master; I can not regret the spirit of the deed I did for their sake. And between us it is as it was the night I sent thee from me, so long ago!"
"But I have changed," he protested hastily. "The world hath taught me much: I can understand; I can extenuate greater errors—I have done so; believe me, it is only for thy sake—"