"My darling, have I tired you out? What a thoughtless brute I am!"
It was the first time she had ever heard a word of self-reproach upon his lips; the first time, though she knew it not, that actual love inspired him, entering as it were through that breach in the wall of overbearing pride that girt him round.
She leaned against him with more confidence than she had ever before known, dizzy still, and conscious of a rush of tears behind her closed lids. For that sudden compunction of his hurt her oddly. She did not know how to meet it.
He bent over her. "Getting better, little sweetheart? Oh, don't cry! What happened? Did I hurt you—frighten you?"
He was stroking her hair soothingly, persuasively, his dark face so close to hers that when she opened her eyes they looked up straight into his. But she saw nought to frighten her there, and after a moment she reached up and kissed him apologetically.
"I'm only silly—only silly," she murmured confusedly. "Good night—good night—Apollo!"
And with the words she stood up, summoning her strength, smiled upon him, and slipped free from his encircling arm.
He did not seek to detain her. She flitted from his presence like a fluttering white moth, and he was left alone. He stood quite motionless in the semi-darkness, breathing deeply, his clenched hands pressed against his sides.
That moment had been a revelation to him also. He was abruptly conscious of the spirit so dominating the body that the fierce, ungoverned heart of him drew back ashamed as a beast will shrink from the flare of a torch, and he felt strangely conquered, almost cowed, as though an angel with a flaming sword had suddenly intervened between him and his desire.
The madness of his passion was yet beating in his veins, but this—this was another and a stronger element before which all else became contemptible. The soul of the man had sprung from sleep like an awaking giant. Half in wonder and half in awe, he watched the kindling of the Divine Spark that outshineth every earthly fire.