n
her only the last of her hated race and knew in that moment that never
might there be aught of true love, that pure passion, high and
ennobling, the which may lift man above his baser self--never might
this be 'twixt her blood and mine. And knowing this I knew also great
doubt and fear of myself. And in my fear I lifted my gaze to the
stars, those "great lights" set there by the hand of God; and spake
thus within myself:

"Lord God," quoth I, "Since love is not nor ever shall be 'twixt this
my companion and me, do Thou protect her from the devil within me, do
Thou aid me to keep the oath I sware in Thy name."

But now (and my prayer scarce uttered) the Devil sprang and was upon
me, and I, forgetting all my oaths and resolutions, yielded me joyously
to his will; stirring in her slumbers my lady sighed, turned and,
throwing her arm out it chanced that her hand came upon my knee and
rested there, and I, shivering at her touch, seized this hand and
caught it to my lips and began to kiss these helpless fingers and the
round, soft arm above. I felt her start, heard her breath catch in a
sob, but, in my madness I swept her to my embrace. Then as I stooped
she held me off striving fiercely against me; all at once her struggles
ceased and I heard her breath come in a long, tremulous sigh.

"Martin!" says she, "O thank God 'tis you! I dreamed these Black
Bartlemy's cruel arms about me and I was sick with fear and
horror--thank God 'tis you, dear Martin, and I safe from all harms
soever. So hold me an you will, Martin, you that have saved me from so
much and will do till the end."

"Aye, by God!" says I, bending my head above her that she might not see
my face, "And so I will, faithfully, truly, until the very end!"

"Do I not know it--O do I not know it!" says she in choking voice, and
here, lying beside me, she must take my hand and hold it to her soft
cheek. "Indeed I do think there is no man like you in the whole world."

At this, knowing myself so unworthy, I thought no man in the world so
miserable as I, as I would have told her but dared not.

"God make me worthy of your trust!" says I at last.

"'Tis a good prayer, Martin. Now hear mine, 'tis one I have prayed
full oft--God make you strong enough to forgive past wrongs and,
forgetting vengeance, to love your enemy."

"'Tis thing impossible!" says I.

"Yet the impossible shall come to pass soon or late, Martin, this am I
sure."

"And why so sure?"