oet which he
lays at a woman's feet, and poets have had that right for all time. It
is incumbent on you to accept such an offering."

The words were spoken in such a hot, passionate whisper that Adelheid
trembled.

"Perhaps you pay homage to the women of your country in such words.
German woman do not understand them."

"But you understand them," said Hartmut fiercely, "and you understand
the fire and passion of my 'Arivana,' which rises above all laws and
restrictions of this narrow, human life. I saw that on the evening when
you turned your back on me, while the rest of the world applauded and
came forward with their congratulations. Do not deceive yourself, Ada.
When the god-like spark enters two souls, it bursts into flame whether
they be of the south or the cold north, and that spark has ignited and
burns in us both. All strength and will dies in its fiery breath, it
extinguishes all else, nothing remains but that holy, sacred fire which
illumines and blesses, even while it consumes. You love me, Ada, I know
it; do not try to deceive me, and I love you beyond all power of
speech."

He stood before her in the triumph of victory. Never before had his dark
beauty shone forth so strongly, never before had his eyes glowed with
such intensity, or his face expressed such passion and longing.

And he had spoken the truth.

The woman who leaned against the tree, trembling and deadly pale, loved
him; loved him as only a pure, exalted nature can love. This cold,
haughty woman, whom the world had named heartless, was swayed and torn
by this, the first love of her young life.

She felt within her a passion to which she could no longer blind
herself; the fiery breath, with all its fierceness, was blowing down
upon her. Now came the crucial-test.

"Leave me at once, Herr Rojanow--this instant," she said. The words had
a choked, scarcely audible sound, and they were spoken to a man who was
not accustomed to yield when he felt himself the victor. He would have
gone closer to her--but something in the young wife's eye, in spite of
all, kept him within bounds. But he spoke her name again, and in a tone
whose power he best knew:

"Ada!"

She shuddered, and made a protesting motion.

"Not that name. For you I am only Adelheid von Wallmoden. I am married;
you know that."

"Yes, married to a man who is standing on the threshold of old age; who
does not love you, and for whom you could feel no love even if he were
younger