dore her--he knelt only to his God. He refused
to place his arm at her disposal in all things, and so become the tool
of her caprice; he would not sell himself for a caress, and hold his
hands out to be fettered, when she smiled and offered him an embrace.
A child before God, and led by a grand thought, he would not become a
child before woman, and be directed by her idle fancies. He was the
'knight of God,' not of woman; and he grasped the prize."

Hoffland listened to these earnest words more thoughtfully.

"Well," he said, "so Sir Galahad is your model--not the mad worshipper
of woman, Orlando!"

"A thousand times."

"Ah! we have neither now."

"We have no Galahads, for woman has grown stronger even than in the
old days. She would not tolerate a lover who espoused her cause from
duty: she wants adoring worship."

"No! no!--only love!" said Hoffland.

"A mistake," said Mowbray; "she does not wish a mere knightly respect
and love--that of the real knight; she demands an Amadis, to grow mad
for her--to be crazed by her beauty, and kneel down and sell himself
for a kiss. She wishes power, and scouts the mere chivalric smile and
homage. She claims and exacts the fullest obedience, and her claim is
pronounced just. She says to-day--returning to what we commenced
with--she says, 'Go and murder that man: he has uttered a jest;' or,
'On penalty of my pity and contempt, make yourself the slave of my
caprice, and kill your friend, who has said laughing that I am not an
angel.' The unhappy part of all this is," said Mowbray, "that the men,
especially young men, obey. And then, when the blood is poured out,
the tragedy consummated; when the body which was a breathing man is
taken from the bloody grass where it lies like a wounded bird, its
heart-blood welling out--when it is home cold and pale before her, and
the mother, sister, daughter wail and moan--then the beautiful goddess
who has gotten up this little drama for her amusement, finds her false
philosophy broken in her breast, her deity overthrown, her supreme
resolution crushed in presence of this terrible spectacle; and she
wrings her hands, and sobs and cries out at the evil she has done; but
cries much louder, that the hearts of men are horrible and bloody;
that their instincts are barbarous and terrible; that she alone is
tender and soft-hearted and forgiving; that she would never have
plunged the sword into the bosom, or sent the ball tearing its way
through th