I turned on my heel, and went out from the room.
"Oh, my love," she cried passionately, "stay with me; stay, oh, stay!"
Her voice rang in my ear with honeyed sweetness, like that of the Sirens to Ulysses of old.
"Stay!" she cried, as I flung open the house-door.
I turned me round for one last look at her whom I loved better than life. She stood at the entrance to the room, with her arms outstretched and her white bosom heaving. Her eyes were filled with an utterable longing, which a man may see but once in his life—and well for him if he never sees it. Her lips were parted as if to call me back once more. But no word came; her presence was more powerful than any cry.
I turned to the weather. A gray sky, a driving mist, and a chill piercing blast. The contrast was almost more than my resolution. An irresistible impulse seized me to fly to her arms, to enter the bright room again with her, and sell myself, body and soul, to the lady of my heart.
My foot trembled to the step backward, my arms all but felt her weight, when that blind Fate which orders the ways of men intervened. Against my inclination and desire, bitterly, unwilling, I strode to my horse and flung myself on his back. I dared not look behind, but struck spurs into Saladin and rode out among the trees.
A fierce north wind met me in the teeth, and piercing through my tatters, sent a shiver to my very heart.
I cannot recall my thoughts during that ride: I seem not to have thought at all. All I know is that in about an hour there came into my mind, as from a voice, the words: "Recreant! Fool!" and I turned back.
THE END.