"I warned you, Ailsa! I told you that I am unfit to love you. No woman could ever marry me! No woman could even love me if she knew what I am! You understood that. I told you. And now-good God!-I'm telling you I love you-I can't let you go!-your hands:-the sweetness of them-the--"
"I-oh, it must not be-this way--"
"It is this way!"
"I know-but please try to help.-I-I am not afraid to-love you---"
Her slender figure trembled against him; the warmth of her set him afire. There was a scent of tears in her breath-a fragrance as her body relaxed, yielded, embraced; her hands, her lids, her: hair, her mouth, all his now, for the taking, as he took her into his arms. But he only stared down at what lay there; and, trembling, breathless, her eyes unclosed and she looked up blindly into his flushed face.
"Because I-love you," she sighed, "I believe in all that-that I have-never-seen-in you."
He looked back into her eyes, steadily:
"I am going mad over you, Ailsa. There is only destruction for you in that madness... . Shall I let you go?"
"W-what?"
But the white passion in his face was enough; and, involuntarily her lids shut it out. But she did not stir.
"I-warned you," he said again.
"I know... . Is it in you to-destroy-me?"
"God knows... . Yes, it is."
She scarcely breathed; only their hearts battled there in silence.
Then he said harshly: "What else is there for us? You would not marry me."
"Ask me."
"You would not marry me if I told you--"
"What?"
"I will not tell you!"
"Are you-married?"
"No!"
"Then tell me!"
"G-od! No! I can't throw this hour away. I can't throw love away! I want you anyway-if you have the-courage!"
"Tell me. I promise to marry you anyway. I promise it, whatever you are! Tell me."
"I-" An ugly red-stained neck and forehead; his embrace suddenly hurt her so that she cried out faintly, but her hand closed on his.
"Tell me, tell me, tell me!" she pleaded; "I know you are half crazed by something-some dreadful thing that has been done to you-" and ceased, appalled at the distorted visage he turned on her. His arms relaxed and fell away from her.
Released, she stood swaying as though stunned, pressed both hands to her eyes, then let her arms fall, inert.
For a moment they confronted one another; then he straightened up, squared his shoulders with a laugh that terrified her.
"No," he said, "I won't tell you! You go on caring for me. I'm beast enough to let you. Go on caring! Love me-if you're brave enough... . And I warn you now that I love you, and I don't care a damn how I do it! ... Now you are frightened! ... Very well-I--"
He swayed a little, swung blindly on his heel, and lurched out into the hall.
Mechanically she followed, halting in the doorway and resting against it, for it seemed as though her knees were giving way.
"Is that-to be the-end?" she whispered.
He turned and came swiftly back, took her in his arms, crushed her to him, kissed her lips again and again, fiercely.
"The end will be when you make an end," he said. "Make it now or never!"
His heart was beating violently against hers; her head had fallen a little back, lips slightly parted, unresponsive under his kiss, yet enduring-and at last burning and trembling to the verge of response--
And suddenly, passion-swept, breathless, she felt her self-control going, and she opened her eyes, saw hell in his, tore herself from his arms, and shrank, trembling, against the wall. He turned stupidly and opened the door, making his way out into the night. But she did not see him, for her burning face was hidden in her hands.
Drunk as though drugged, the echoes of passion still stirred his darker self, and his whirling thoughts pierced his heart like names, whispering, urging him to go back and complete the destruction he had begun-take her once more into his arms and keep her there through life, through death, till the bones of the blessed and the damned alike stirred in their graves at the last reveille.
To know that she, too, had been fighting herself-that she, too, feared passion, stirred every brutal fibre in him to a fiercer recklessness that halted him in his tracks under the calm stars. But what held him there was something else, perhaps what he believed had died in him; for he did not even turn again. And at last, through the dark and throbbing silence he moved on again at random, jaws set.
The mental strain was beginning to distort everything. Once or twice he laughed all to himself, nodding mysteriously, his tense white face stamped with a ghastly grimace of self-contempt. Then an infernal, mocking curiosity stirred him:
What kind of a thing was he anyway? A moment since he had loosed the brute in himself, leaving it to her to re-chain or let it carry her with him to destruction. And yet he was too fastidious to marry her under false pretences!
"Gods of Laughter! What in hell-what sort of thing am I?" he asked aloud, and lurched on, muttering insanely to himself, laughing, talking under his breath, hearing nothing, seeing nothing but her wistful eyes, gazing sorrowfully out of the night.
At a dark crossing he ran blindly into a moving horse; was pushed aside by its cloaked rider with a curse; stood dazed, while his senses slowly returned-first, hearing-and his ears were filled with the hollow trample of many horses; then vision, and in the dark street before him he saw the column of shadowy horsemen riding slowly in fours, knee to knee, starlight sparkling on spur and bit and sabre guard.
Officers walked their lean horses beside the column. One among them drew bridle near him, calling out:
"Have you the right time?"
Berkley looked at his watch.
"Midnight."
"Thank you, friend."
Berkley stepped to the curb-stone: "What regiment is that?"
"Eighth New York."
"Leaving?"