Love that is root and fruit of terrene things,
Love that the whole world's waters shall not drown
The whole world's fiery forces not burn down.
--SWINBURNE.
Michael could scarce believe his own eyes. The reality had brought
him back with irresistible force from his day-dream to the tangible
situation of the moment.
Papa Legros was here with Rose Marie. So much was true; that was no
longer in the domain of dreams. They had been brought here to add their
testimony to the lies spoken by the informers.
Torturing devils, whispering in Michael's ears, made this hellish
suggestion. With it came an intensity of bitterness. He had thought
that the old man loved him, yet his appearance here and now seemed like
petty vengeance wreaked on a fallen enemy.
Michael ground his teeth, trying to drive these whispering devils
away. He would not--even at a moment such as this--lose if only for an
instant his perfect faith in the purity of the woman he loved. If she
stood here, it was for a noble purpose. What that purpose could be,
not even the mad conjectures of his own fevered fancy could contrive
to imagine; his veins were throbbing and he could not think. Only the
puzzle confronted him now, mocking his own obtuseness; the laggard
brain, that had suffered so long, and was now dormant, unable to guess
the riddle which could not be aught save one of life or death.
All he did know was that Rose Marie was standing there before all these
people, she the very essence of purity and of truth, and that she was
being made to swear that she would speak the truth. Was this not a vile
mockery, masters, seeing that naught but what was true could ever fall
from her lips?
Now the Attorney-General was questioning her father, with thin,
sarcastic lips curled in a smile. Rose Marie replied calmly and firmly,
interpreting her father's answers, not looking once on the accused,
but almost always straight before her, save when she threw a look of
encouragement on good Papa Legros, who then would pat her hand with
unaffected tenderness.
"And you were present, so the other witness swore in his original
information, on the 19th day of April, with him at the tavern of the
'Rat Mort' in Paris, and you did on that same evening hear the accused
hold converse with one who was minister to His Majesty the King of
France?"
The Attorney-General's voice was metallic, trenchant, like a knife;
it reached the furthermost distance of the great hall and grated
unpleasantly on Michael's ear. He hated to see his beloved standing
there before that gaping crowd. He cursed the enforced inactivity which
made of him a helpless log when with every fibre within him he longed
to take her in his arms and carry her away to a secluded spot where
impious eyes were not raised to her snow-white robes.
"My lord," he interposed loudly, "I have confessed to my guilt. What
this witness may have to say can have naught to do with the plain fact.
I am guilty. I have confessed. Cannot your lordship have mercy and pass
sentence as soon as may be?"
"Prisoner at the bar," rejoined the Lord Chief Justice, "'tis not for
you to dictate the procedure of justice. 'Tis my duty to hear every
witness who hath testimony to lay before this court. You have confessed
your guilt, 'tis true, but on such confession the law will not hold
you guilty, until you have so been proved; and for the sake of the
witnesses who have testified against you, as well as for the sake of
justice, we must obtain corroboration of their statements."
Then he turned once more to Papa Legros and graciously bade him to make
answer to the questions put by the Attorney-General.
Rose Marie, before she spoke, turned and looked on Michael. Their eyes
met across that vast assembly and as in one great vivid flash, each
read in those of the other the sublime desire for complete sacrifice.
In a moment Michael understood; in that one brief flash and through the
unexplainable telepathy which flew from her soul to his, the truth had
burst upon him with the appalling force of absolute conviction.
She, the woman whom he adored, who was a saint exalted in his mind
above every other woman on earth, she was about to throw her fair fame,
her honour, her purity as a plaything to this crowd of hyena-like
creatures, who would fall on the tattered remnants of her reputation
and tear its last fragments to shreds.
This she meant to do. This was the grim and sublime answer to the
riddle which had so puzzled Michael when first he saw his Rose Marie in
this court. She meant to give her honour for his life. She loved him
and came here to offer her all--her own, her father's good name, so
that he--Michael--should be saved.
The terrible, awful agony of this thought, the mad, tumultuous joy!
Here was the moment at last--the one second in the illimitable cycle
of time--when if there be mercy in Heaven or on earth, the kiss of
Death should bring peace to the miserable wastrel who had in this brief
flash of understanding tasted an eternity of happiness.
She loved him and was here to save him! But Heavens above, at what a
cost!
He looked round him like some caged beast, determined at all hazards to
make a mad dash for liberty.
It could not be! No, no; it should not be! Surely God in Heaven could
not allow this monstrous sacrifice; surely the thunderbolts from above
would come down crashing in the midst of this mocking, jeering assembly
before his exquisite snowdrop dragged her immaculate white skirts in
the mire.
What he did or how he fought, Michael himself scarcely knew. What was
he but one small, helpless atom in this avalanche of callous lawmakers?
All that he did know was that with all the strength at his command he
protested his guilt again and again, imploring judgment, uttering wild
words of treason that might secure his own immediate condemnation.
"My lord, my lord," he cried loudly, "in the name of Heaven as you
yourself hope for justice hereafter, listen not to these witnesses.
I swear to you that they will only confirm what the others have
said. I am guilty--thrice guilty, I say--yes, I plotted to murder
the king. I plotted to sell England to France and to Rome. I admit
the truth of every word the informers have uttered. I am guilty, my
lord--guilty--judgment, in Heaven's name--I ask for judgment."
"Prisoner at the bar, I command you to be silent."
Silent, silent when so monstrous a thing was about to happen! As well
command the giant waves lashed into madness by the fury of the wind
to be silent when they break upon the rocks. The Lord Chief Justice
commanded the musketeers to restrain this madman, to force him to hold
his tongue, to drown his voice with the clatter of their arms.
The spectators stared aghast, women gasped with fear, the men were awed
despite themselves in the presence of this raging torrent of a man's
unbridled passion.
The general impression which this scene had created was of course
that the prisoner was dreading some awful revelation which these two
witnesses might make. He was avowing his guilt, therefore he did not
hope to escape death; once more the superstitious dread of witchcraft
rose in the minds of all. Was the accused--already practically
condemned for treason--in fear that his death would mean the stake
rather than the block?
A close phalanx gathered round the person of the king, who with a
cynical smile was watching the confusion which occurred round the
august majesty of this court. But he waved aside those who would have
stood between him and Michael.
"He'll quieten down anon," he said simply, "and if I mistake not,
gentlemen, we shall then learn a lesson which throughout our lives we
are not like to forget."
Was it accident or design? Had Michael fought like a madman, or had
his brain merely given way under an agonizing moral blow. Certain it
is that suddenly he felt a terrible pain in his head, his senses were
reeling, his tongue, parched and dry, refused to obey the dictates of
his will that bade it protest again and again, until his heart could no
longer beat, until his last breath had left his body.
He tottered and would have fallen but for strong arms that held him
up. He felt that irons were being placed on his wrists, that four pairs
of hands gripped his arms and shoulders so that he could no longer
move. The pain in his head was well-nigh intolerable; he closed his
eyes in the vain effort not to swoon.
It was the butt end of a musket that had rendered him helpless. From
the lips of many spectators came loud invectives against the miscreant
who had dared to strike a peer; vaguely reaching the half-unconscious
brain came the sound of voices, also the cry from a woman's throat,
heard above all the others, uttered with an intensity of agony even as
he fell.
With Michael's half-swoon the turmoil had somewhat subsided. The
musketeers round him, terrified at their comrade's act, were bathing
the prisoner's head with water hastily obtained. The spectators, deeply
moved--unable to understand the inner meaning of the strange scene
which they had just witnessed--were talking excitedly to one another.
Conjectures, wild guesses, flew from mouth to mouth.
And in the midst of all this noise, and of all the confusion, Rose
Marie had remained calm, holding her father by the hand. Only when the
dastardly blow felled the fighting lion down, then only did a cry of
pain escape her trembling lips. Now when comparative stillness reigned
around her, she once more faced the judges. Michael was now helpless,
she could offer up her sacrifice in peace.
The Lord Chief Justice repeated his question and even as he began
speaking complete silence fell upon all.
"Will you swear before this court that on the evening of the nineteenth
day of April you were present with Master Pye and Doctor Oates at the
hostelry of the 'Rat Mort' in Paris and there on that same evening
did hear the accused holding converse with a minister of the King of
France?"
"No, milor," replied Rose Marie firmly; "my father was not present on
the evening of the nineteenth day of April in the tavern of the 'Rat
Mort' in Paris, nor in any other tavern, nor did the accused hold
converse on that same evening with a minister of the King of France.
And this do I swear in my father's name and mine own."
"But," interposed the Attorney-General in his dry, sarcastic tone, "the
former witnesses have sworn that you were there present together with
them, when the converse did take place."
"Those witnesses have lied, my lord," spoke Rose Marie.
"Take care, Mistress," admonished the Lord Chief Justice, "you do bring
a grave charge against those witnesses."
"A grave charge yet a true one, my lord. Yet what they have sworn to is
both false and grave."
"Yet are you sworn in as a witness for the Crown."
"And as a witness for the Crown do I speak," rejoined Rose Marie
simply, "for the Crown of England is the crown of truth, and my father
and I are here for the truth."
"Which mayhap will bear fuller investigation," quoth Sir William Jones
with a sneer.
"As full an one as you desire, my lords."
"Then pray, Mistress, since you and your father do swear that you were
not at the hostelry of the 'Rat Mort' in Paris on the evening of the
nineteenth of April, how comes it that you can state so positively that
the accused did not then and at that place hold treasonable converse
with the minister of the King of France, as the other witnesses have
testified?"
Rose Marie paused before she answered; it almost seemed as if she
wished to wait until all disturbing sounds had died down in the vast
hall, so that her fresh and firm voice should ring clearly from end to
end.
Then she spoke, looking straight at the judge:
"Because of the truth of the statement, my lord," she said, "to which
my father hath already sworn before the magistrate, and to which he
must, it seems, now swear openly before this court, according to the
laws of your country. The accused, my lord, could not have been present
at a hostelry in Paris, or held converse with a minister of the King
of France on the evening of the nineteenth day of April, for on that
day did I plight my troth to him at the Church of St. Gervais, and he
did spend the full day in my father's house. At five o'clock in the
afternoon he did journey with me to St. Denis and there remained with
me at the hostelry of the 'Three Archangels,' when my father came and
fetched me away."
"It is false," came faintly whispered from the lips of the prisoner,
whose consciousness only seemed to return for this brief while, that he
might register a last protest against the desecration of his saint.
Rose Marie's words had rung clearly and distinctly from end to end of
the hall. After she spoke, after that protest from the accused, dead
silence fell on all. Only the fluttering of the fans came as a strange
moaning sound, hovering in the over-heated air.
Excitement like the embodiment of a thousand spirits flew across and
across on wings widely outstretched--unseen yet tangible. Soon a
half-audible curse spoken from beneath the mullioned windows broke the
spell of awed silence.
Rupert Kestyon, with rage and shame surging in his heart, fear, too, at
the possible consequences of this unexpected interference, muttered
angry oaths beneath his breath. Then like the ripple of innumerable
waves, an hundred exclamations rose from every corner of the court.
Lord Rochester was seen to whisper animatedly to the king. Mistress
Peyton turned and held hurried converse with Sir John Ayloffe, who
sat at her elbow. A few women tried to titter; the lowering cloud of
scandal made vain endeavour to spread itself over the head of that
slender girl who stood there before the judge, fearless and impassive
beneath this gathering tempest of sneers and evil words.
She had heard the muttered oath, spoken by lips that she had already
learned to dread, and her calm, blue eyes, serene as the skies of her
native Provence, sought the lonely figure beneath the mullion, and
rested on it with a look of challenge and of defiance. She had meant
and desired to be loyal to him, she would have clung to him through
sorrow and loneliness, humiliation and derision, if need be, but Fate
had been too strong for her. The man she loved was in peril of his life
and could only be saved at the sacrifice of her own loyalty and of her
honour.
There had never been any conflict within her. The moment she knew how
the accusation stood against her beloved, she mapped out her course and
never swerved.
Come contumely and disgrace, public scandal and her own undoing, she
was ready for it all. It had been over-easy to guess what had occurred:
how Michael had come to be accused of that which was threatening his
cousin. Rose Marie understood it, even as if she had been present at
the interview between the two kinsmen, when one man sold his life for
the other's loyalty and for her happiness.
All this and more her glance across the court told to Rupert Kestyon.
It told him that ready as she had been to follow him even at the cost
of her own misery, she was not ready to pay for his safety with the
life of the man whom alone she loved.
Michael may have sinned. He did sin, no doubt, against God and
against her, but God of a truth had made him suffer enough. It was
Rupert's turn now to pay, and pay he must. Small coin it was, for his
child-wife's disgrace, his own humiliation at the inevitable scandal
and consequent gossip was but small money indeed beside the boundless
wealth of self-sacrifice which Michael had been ready to throw in his
cousin's lap.
Perhaps that something of the magnetism which emanated from her
personality, perhaps the subtle and mysterious magic which Love
exercises over all who think and who feel, affected these people who
were present at this memorable scene. Certain it is that there were
but very few men and women in this stately hall who did not feel an
undefinable sense of sympathy for the three chief actors of the drama
which they were witnessing.
The Lord Chief Justice--at best a hard and cynical man of the world,
a man on whom history hath cast a mantle of opprobrium--was strangely
impressed. He had watched the girl very closely whilst she spoke, had
noted the looks which passed between father and daughter and thence
across to the prisoner at the bar, and something of the truth of the
soulful sacrifice which all three were prepared to make dawned upon his
alert brain.
His words were the first clear tones that rose above the babel of
whisperings and titters; he turned directly to Master Legros and
addressed him personally, speaking in fluent French.
"Your daughter, Master," he said, "hath made a strange statement. Do
you endorse its purport?"
"My daughter spoke the truth, milor," replied Papa Legros quietly,
"and I endorse every word which she hath said."
"Upon your oath?"
"On mine oath."
"It is false, my lord," murmured Michael still feebly, but making
frantic efforts to keep his wandering spirits in bondage. "It is false,
on my soul--I was in Paris--not at St. Denis--the lady is unknown to
me--I am guilty."
"You hear the prisoner's protest, Master?" queried the judge, once more
speaking directly to Legros. "If your statement be true, he is your
bitter enemy."
"He did my daughter a great wrong, my lord, but he is an innocent man,
unjustly accused of a grave crime. I cannot let him die for that which
he hath not done."
"Yet doth he protest his guilt."
"'Tis natural that he should thus protest, my lord. He hath taken on
his own shoulders the burden of another. Yet I would have you believe
that I would not stand by now, and see my daughter sacrificing her good
name for any cause save that of truth."
Papa Legros spoke with so much simplicity, such perfect dignity, and
withal had made so logical a statement, that it seems impossible to
imagine that it should not carry at least as much conviction to the
minds of judge and jury and of all the assembly as the obviously lying
statements of the informers had done. Yet such was the temper of the
times, such the wave of intolerant fanaticism which had passed over
the country, that even whilst good Master Legros was stating so noble
and simple a point of truth, the first murmurs of dissent against him
and his daughter rose throughout the hall: whispered words of "foreign
papist," of "prejudiced witnesses," of "a wench and her lover," flew
from mouth to mouth.
Rose Marie, whose sensibilities were attuned to their highest pitch,
felt this wave of antipathy, even before its first faint echo had
actually reached her ears.
She was quite clever enough to know that the simple mention of an
actual fact by herself and her father would not be sufficient to turn
the tide of judicial sympathy back toward Michael, after the perjuries
of men who had for some time now been exalted into popular heroes; she
had, alas, known only too well that she had not yet reached the summit
of that Calvary which she had set herself to climb for the loved one's
sake.
There were yet many cups of bitter humiliation which she and her kind
father would have to drain ere an innocent man was forbidden to give
his life for another, and the first of these was being held to her lips
even now by the Attorney-General, as he said, turning once more to her:
"You are aware, Mistress, of these statements to which your father hath
sworn in open court. Do you on your own account and independently of
your father, add your sworn testimony to his?"
"I do, sir," she replied; "I swear, quite independently of what my
father hath said, that on the evening of the 19th day of April, when
the false witnesses aver that my lord of Stowmaries was in Paris, he
was at St. Denis with me."
"You are quite sure of the date?"
"Am I like to forget?"
"Odd's fish!" he retorted, with a sarcastic curl of the lips, "when a
pretty wench is in love."
"I am the wife of Rupert Kestyon, formerly styled my lord of
Stowmaries," she rejoined with calm emphasis. "Had my father kept
silent, had he not endeavoured to clear an innocent man of an unjust
charge by giving up that which he holds most dear--his daughter's
honour and his own good name--had he remained silent, I say, then would
the accused have suffered death, my husband would have succeeded to
his title and estates, and I would have duly become the Countess of
Stowmaries and Rivaulx, the richest, mayhap the most honoured lady in
this beautiful land. Think you, then, that 'tis the caprice of wanton
love that would make me swear what I did? Think you that--unless truth
and honour itself compelled him--my father would lend a hand to the
degradation of his own child?"
What Michael endured in agony of mind throughout this time, it
were almost impossible to conceive. Imagine that type of man--the
adventurer, the soldier of fortune, the carver of his own destiny, good
or bad, the dictator of his own fate! Imagine that man for the first
time in his life rendered absolutely helpless the while his fate, his
life, was being decided on by others. After those first mad and useless
protests, after that wild struggle for freedom of speech, for the right
to refuse this whole-hearted sacrifice, this offering of the lily on
the altar of love, he had remained silent, with his head buried in his
hands, driving his finger nails into his own flesh, longing with a mad
longing of pain to find a means of ending his own existence here and
now, before his snowdrop had suffered the full consequences of her own
heaven-born impulse.
Ye gods above! And he--Michael--had doubted her love for him! Fool,
fool that he had been, even for a moment, even in thought to give
her up to another. He who had ever been ready to account for his own
actions, who with the arrogant pride of fallen angels had always looked
his own sins in the face, grinning, hideous monsters though they may
have been--how came it that when first she spoke cold words to him he
did not then silence them with a kiss, how came it that he did not then
and there take her in his arms, defying the laws of men, for the sake
of the first, the greatest of God's laws which gives the woman to the
man?
Fool that he had been to think of aught save love, and of love alone.
And all the while, Rose Marie, calm and still as the very statue of
abnegation, was completing her work of self-immolation. When the
Attorney-General-with sneering lips and mocking eyes threw discredit on
those statements which she and her dear father were making at the cost
of their own honour, she felt the first terrible pang of fear. Not for
herself or her future, but for him whom she longed to save and lest
her sacrifice be made and yet remain useless. Just for that moment,
her serenity gave way. She looked all round her on that sea of jeering
faces, longing to cry for help, just as with her whole attitude she had
until this moment only called for justice.
Once more her eyes lighted on Rupert Kestyon, her husband, throwing him
a challenge, which now had almost become a prayer. He could if he would
help her even now. She had become naught to him, of course. Whatever he
said could not add to her disgrace; but he could help to save Michael
if he would.
She met his lowering glance, the look of hatred and wrath which
embraced her and her father, and the obstinate set of jaw and lips
which spoke of the determination to win his own safety, his own
advancement and the furtherance of his own ambition now and at any cost.
But when the iron determination of a woman who loves, and who fights
for the safety of the man she loves, comes in contact with the cold
obstinacy of a man's ambition, then must the latter yield to the
overwhelming strength of the other.
Rupert Kestyon could have saved Michael at cost of his own immediate
exaltation, and thus saved Rose Marie a final and complete humiliation,
but this, his every look told her that he would not do. Therefore after
that quick glance, her eyes no longer challenged him; she feared that
if she dragged him forcibly into this conflict with perjury, his own
self-interest would make a stand against justice. Heaven alone knew to
what evil promptings his ambition would listen at the moment, when the
one life--already so splendidly jeopardised--stood between him and the
title and wealth which he coveted.
She did not know that any one save her father and herself could speak
with certainty as to that memorable evening of April nineteenth when
she went forth--cruel, cold and resentful--leaving Michael alone and
desolate at the inn of St. Denis.
Even now the Attorney-General, fresh to the charge, pressed her with
his sarcastic comments.
"You speak well, fair Mistress," he said blandly, "but you know no
doubt that your story needs corroboration. Two witnesses who are
Englishmen and members of our National Church have sworn that the
prisoner spent the evening of April the nineteenth in treasonable
converse with an enemy of this country and in their presence; mark
you that the accused himself hath confessed to his guilt. Yet do you
swear that he spent that day and evening in your company, until so
late that a cruel father came and dragged you away from the delectable
privacy. But with all due acknowledgment to the charm of your presence,
Mistress," added Sir William Jones, suddenly dropping his bland manner
and speaking with almost studied insolence, "you must see for yourself
that if a wench desires that she be credited, she must above all bear a
spotless reputation, and this on your own acknowledgment you flung to
the winds, the day that you--avowedly married to Mr. Rupert Kestyon,
formerly styled Earl of Stowmaries--did publicly flout your marriage
vows by leaving your father's house in company with the accused. Now
justice, though blind, my wench, doth wish to see farther than a minx's
tale which mayhap hath been concocted to save her gallant from the
block."
The girl had not winced at the insults. Happily her father had not
understood them, and the issue at stake was far too great to leave room
for vain indignation or even for outraged pride. What bitter resentment
she felt was for Michael's sake. She knew how every insolent word
uttered by that bland cynic in the name of the law and of justice,
would strike against the already-overburdened heart of the man who
loved her with such passionate adoration. The impotence that weighed on
Michael now was of a truth the most bitter wrong to bear in the midst
of all this misery. Samson bound and fettered was helpless in the hands
of the Philistines. Prometheus chained to the rock saw the vultures
hovering over him and the eagles pecking at his heart.
"As to that, sir," replied Rose Marie quietly, after a brief pause,
"these honourable gentlemen here whom you call the jury will have to
judge for themselves as to who hath lied: those other witnesses or
I--they who have everything to gain, or I and my father, who have
everything to lose. But you say that the justice of this land will need
corroboration of our statements ere she turns to right an innocent
man. This corroboration, sir, you shall have, an you will tell me what
form it shall take."
"Some other witness of the prisoner's presence in your company at the
inn of St. Denis during the day and evening of April nineteenth,"
retorted Sir William Jones brusquely.
"I know only of the innkeeper himself and his wife," she rejoined.
"Simple folk to whose testimony--seeing the temper of the people of
England just now--you would scarce give credence, mayhap."
"Mayhap not," quoth the Attorney-General mockingly.
"Yet think again, Mistress," interposed the Lord Chief Justice not
unkindly, "corroboration the law must have--if not to right the
innocent then to punish the guilty."
The young girl's eyes closed for a moment. She clung to her father in
pathetic abandonment; beads of perspiration stood on her forehead; her
eyes were dry and hot and her throat parched. But for Papa Legros'
presence mayhap her magnificent calm would have deserted her then. She
drew herself together, however, and a look of understanding passed
between father and daughter. Then the tailor drew a paper from his
pocket.
It was a large and heavy document and it bore two huge seals engraved
with the arms of the Holy See. This Papa Legros gave into an usher's
hand, who in his turn handed it up to the Lord Chief Justice.
"What is this paper?" queried His Lordship.
"It is a dispensation, my lord," replied Rose Marie firmly, "signed by
His Holiness the Pope, as you will see. It was granted to my husband,
Rupert Kestyon, then styled my Lord of Stowmaries and Rivaulx, giving
him leave to avail himself of the laws of England, which would, on his
request, annul his marriage with one Rose Marie Legros, who did on
the nineteenth day of April, 1678, break her sworn marriage vows by
contracting with Michael Kestyon a--"
But even as the awful words trembled on the girl's lips, Michael's
restraint completely gave way. Despite the soldiers around him--who
of a truth were taken by surprise--despite the hopeless futility of
his former attempt--he broke through the rank of musketeers who were
surrounding him, and with a cry as that of a wild animal wounded unto
death, he bounded forward to where his snowdrop stood, and with one arm
round her, pressing her to him with all the strength of passion held in
check so long, he, with the other hand placed upon her mouth, smothered
the word which would have escaped her lips.
"My lord, my lord," he cried, "is this justice? Sire, you are here
present! Where is your kingly power? Will you not stop this desecration
of the purest, holiest thing on earth? Are we in the torture chambers
of our forefathers that men in England will listen unmoved to this?"
He had taken the guard so completely by surprise that the men were
still standing mute and irresolute, the while the prisoner with defiant
head erect challenged the king himself to intervene. He had sunk on one
knee, his arm still round the form of his beloved. No one would have
dared to touch him then, for he was like a wild beast defending its
mate.
Rose Marie's strength had indeed failed her at last; when she felt
herself falling against the breast of the man whom she so ardently
loved, all her calm, all her resolution suddenly gave way. Once more
she was the woman, the pure, tender-hearted, gentle-nurtured child,
content to rest in the protecting arms of her lord, content to live for
his happiness, or to share his disgrace.
"If I feared you before, my lord--meseems that I could love you now,"
her cold lips seemed to murmur the echo of the very first words of love
which they had ever uttered.
And a groan of agony escaped the poor blackguard's overburdened heart.
No longer splendid now, no longer defiant or proud--but humbled from
his self-exalted state of arrogant manhood. And she, the slender
water-lily, had of her own free will allowed the mud of a polluted
world to soil the exquisite whiteness of her gown. She had descended
from her lofty pedestal of saint-like aloofness, in order to link her
fate to his--her sins to his--her life and love to his own. Fate and
the overwhelming love of a woman had conquered his will.
"I am a man and what I do, I do!"
"No!" love triumphant had retorted, "for what _I_ command that must
thou do. I am the ruler, thou my slave! Whoever thou art, I am thy
master and the arbiter of thy destiny!"