John again came close to Herold. “This may be an extraordinary conversation, but it has to be. If Stella loved me, do you think she would stand like that?”
Stella dropped to her knees, her face and arms huddled against the chair.
“My dear old man, I 've learned many things of late. I can't tell you exactly. I'm not good at that sort of thing. But Unity has been too big for me.”
Stella raised a white face.
“What do you mean? Say exactly what you mean.”
“I mean—oh, God knows what I mean.” He strode blindly across the room, returned, and faced the two, still near together. “Can't you understand?” he cried, with a wide gesture. “I'm infinitesimal sand beneath that child's feet. I'm a blind mole in comparison with her transcendent vision. I 'm in the dust. Oh, God!” He turned away.
Stella rose, and, clasping hands to her bosom, went to him.
“Belovedest, for Christ's sake, what is the end of all this?”
He halted and took her hands.
“Not shadows, not lies. Once I thought—indeed, I knew—you loved me. That was when you were an ignorant child. You loved some one you thought was me. Now your eyes are opened. You have passed through flames. Knowledge has come to you. You see me as I am, and your love has gone. I know, too, what I am. Unity has taught me. You can't—you don't love me, Stella. That I know. I've known it ever since that day when we put her into her grave.”