' she replied. 'The passions of these
hordes of men are not an example for a living soul. Our souls grow up
to the light: we must keep eye on the light, and look no lower. Nations
appear to me to have no worse than a soiled mirror of themselves in
mobs. They are still uncivilized: they still bear a resemblance to the
old monsters of the mud. Do you not see their claws and fangs, Harry? Do
you find an apology in their acts for intemperate conduct? Men who fight
duels appear in my sight no nobler than the first desperate creatures
spelling the cruel A B C of the passions.'

'No, nor in mine,' I assented hastily. 'We are not perfect. But hear me.
Yes, the passions are cruel. Circumstances however--I mean, there are
social usages--Ay, if one were always looking up t. But should we not be
gentle with our comparisons if we would have our views in proportion?'

She hung studiously silent, and I pursued:

'I trust you so much as my helper and my friend that I tell you what we
do not usually tell to women--the facts, and the names connected with
them. Sooner or later you would have learnt everything. Beloved, I
do not wait to let you hear it by degrees, to be reconciled to it
piecemeal.'

'And I forgive him,' she sighed. 'I scarcely bring myself to believe
that Harry has bled from Otto's hand.'

'It was the accident of the case, Ottilia. We had to meet.'

'To meet?'

'There are circumstances when men will not accept apologies;
they--we--heaven knows, I was ready to do all that a man could do to
avoid this folly--wickedness; give it the worst of titles!'

'It did not occur accidentally?' she inquired. Her voice sounded
strange, half withheld in the utterance.

'It occurred,' said I, feeling my strength ebb and despair set in, 'it
occurred--the prince compelled me to the meet him.'

'But my cousin Otto is no assassin?

'Compelled, I say: that is, he conceived I had injured him, and left me
no other way of making amends.'

Her defence of Otto was in reality the vehement cherishing of her idea
of me. This caused her bewilderment, and like a barrier to the flowing
of her mind it resisted and resisted. She could not suffer herself to
realize that I was one of the brainless young savages, creatures with
claws and fangs.

Her face was unchanged to me. The homeliness of her large mild eyes
embraced me unshadowed, and took me to its inner fire unreservedly.
Leaning in my roomy chair, I contemplated her at leisure while my