ercely, bringing his hand down
heavily on the mantle; "whoever tells you that I am, lies, and the
truth is not in him. I've told you all--and yet not all. Ethel Ross,
the woman who was my wife--whom _you_ say is my wife still--is about to
marry again. To join her life--as free and separate from mine as
though we had never met--to the life of another man. Isn't that
enough? Can't you see how completely every tie between us is severed?"

Pocahontas shook her head. "I can not understand you, and you will not
understand me," she said mournfully; "her sin will not lessen our sin;
nor her unholy marriage make ours pure and righteous."

Thorne stamped his foot. "Do you wish to madden me?" he exclaimed;
"there is no sin, I tell you; nor would our marriage be unholy. You
are torturing us both for nothing on God's earth but a scruple. I've
argued, reasoned, and pleaded with you, and you refuse to weigh the
argument, to listen to the reason, to yield to the persuasion. You are
hard, and opinionated, and obstinate. You set up your individual
judgment against the verdict of the world and deem it infallible. You
are hard to yourself, and cruelly hard to me, for, as there is a God in
heaven, I believe you love me, even as I love you. Oh, my love! my
love!" his voice melted, his arms closed around her. "Why do you try
me beyond my strength? Why are you so cruel to us both? See; I hold
you safely; your heart beats on mine; your dear face is on my breast.
Stay with me, my darling, my own, my wife;" and soft, clinging
passionate kisses pressed down on hair, and cheek, and lips; kisses
that burned like flame, that thrilled like strong wine.

For a moment Pocahontas lay quietly in his arms, lulled into
quiescence. Then she wrenched herself free, and moved away from him.
It had been said of her that she could be hard upon occasion; the
occasion had arisen, and she _was_ hard.

"Go!" she said, her face wan as ashes, but her voice firm; "it is you
who are cruel; you who are blind and obstinate. You will neither see
nor understand why this thing may not be. I have showed you my
thought, and you will not bend; implored you to have pity, and you are
merciless. And yet you talk of love! You love me, and would sacrifice
me to your love; love me, and would break down the bulwarks I have been
taught to consider righteous, to gratify your love. I do not
understand; love seemed to me so different, so noble and unselfish.
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