Once more cold fear comes over him; his pulses halt in dread.
"Not yet—not yet—no! One by one, to tear me slowly to pieces. Shadows of vengeance, retribution, following everywhere; burning eyes glaring at me from behind, fear that makes me tremble at every sound, and start in dread at every stranger's face. And if I forget for a moment, and think myself free, one of them comes again … ghosts, ghosts…."
He sat down heavily.
"Why do they follow me still? Is it not enough that I have lived like a hunted beast so long? Because I loved you once? And what did we swear to each other then—have you forgotten? Never to think of each other but with thankfulness for what each had given! We were rich, and poured out gold with open hands—why do you come as beggars now? And talk of poverty—as if I were not poorer than any of you all! Or do you come to mourn, to weep with me over all that we have lost?
"But still you come and ask, and ask, as if I were your debtor, and would not pay. Mad thought! I was your poet, and made you songs of love. Life was a poem, and love red flowers between. What use to tell me now that the poem was a promise, the red flowers figures on a score that I must pay? Go, and leave me in peace! I cannot pay! You know—you know I have pawned all I had long since—all, to the last wrack!"
His own thought filled him with new horror; drops of sweat stood out on his forehead.
"And you, that have suffered most of all—what had I left for you? You, a princess among the rest, the only one that never looked up to me humbly, but stepped bravely to meet me as an equal. Yours was the hardest lot of all—for I gave you the dregs of my life, rags that a beggar would despise…."
Suddenly he felt an inward shock; his heart seemed to check for a moment, then went on beating violently; the blood rushed to his head. Again the check, followed by the same racing heart-beat as before….
Instinctively he grasped his wrist to feel his pulse. A few quick beats, a pause, then on again—what is it?
The fear of death was on him now, and he sprang up as if thinking of flight. Gradually the fit passes off; he stands waiting, but it does not return, only a strange feeling of helplessness remains—helplessness and physical fear. He sits down again.