.

He staggered, and kept silence. Agony held him by the throat; but he
proved stronger than pain. He held his head erect, and a smile almost
played about his trembling lips. Albine for a moment defied him with
her fixed glance; then, carried away by a fresh burst of passion, she
exclaimed:

'Well, answer me. Accuse me! Say it was I who came to tempt you! That
will be the climax! Speak, and say what you can for yourself. Strike me
if you like. I should prefer your blows to that corpse-like stiffness
you put on. Is there no blood left in your veins? Have you no spirit?
Don't you hear me calling you a coward? Yes, indeed, you are a coward.
You should never have loved me, since you may not be a man. Is it that
black robe of yours which holds you back? Tear it off! When you are
naked, perhaps you will remember yourself again.'

The priest slowly repeated his former words:

'I have sinned. I had no excuse for my sin. I do penitence for my sin
without hope of pardon. If I tore off my cassock, I should tear away my
very flesh, for I have given myself wholly to God, soul and body. I am a
priest.'

'And I! what is to become of me?' cried Albine.

He looked unflinchingly at her.

'May your sufferings be reckoned against me as so many crimes! May I be
eternally punished for the desertion in which I am forced to leave you!
That will be only just. All unworthy though I be, I pray for you each
night.'

She shrugged her shoulders with an air of great discouragement. Her
anger was subsiding. She almost felt inclined to pity him.

'You are mad,' she murmured. 'Keep your prayers. It is you yourself that
I want. But you will never understand me. There were so many things
I wanted to tell you! Yet you stand there and irritate me with your
chatter of another world. Come, let us try to talk sensibly. Let us wait
for a moment till we are calmer. You cannot dismiss me in this way,
I cannot leave you here. It is because you are here that you are so
corpse-like, so cold that I dare not touch you. We won't talk any more
just now. We will wait a little.'

She ceased speaking, and took a few steps, examining the little church.
The rain was still gently pattering against the windows; and the cold
damp light seemed to moisten the walls. Not a sound came from outside
save the monotonous plashing of the rain. The sparrows were doubtless
crouching for shelter under the tiles, and the rowan-tree's deserted
branches showed but indistinctly in