of one who loves
deliriously. She returned my morning greeting with some confusion. For
the last few days she seems afraid of me, for I hypnotize her with
every glance and word. Her peace of thought is already disturbed, and
the ferment has entered her soul. She cannot help seeing I love her,
but does not own it, not even to herself. Sometimes I have a
sensation as if I were holding a bird in my hand, and heard its heart
palpitating under my fingers. We walked together in embarrassed
silence, which I did not care to interrupt. I know this uneasiness is
oppressive to her; but it renders her my accomplice, and brings me
nearer to the end. In the silence which surrounded us not a sound
was audible but the crunching of the gravel under our feet, and the
whistling of the golden orioles, which are plentiful in the park. I
started at last a conversation. I directed it to suit my plans, for
however much my mind is closed against influences that have no bearing
upon my feeling, within their sphere I have a well-nigh redoubled
presence of mind,--an acuteness of perception, as have those plunged
into a hypnotic trance, and in a given direction see more clearly
than people in their normal state. We passed speedily on to personal
topics. I spoke about myself in the confidential tone in which one
speaks to those nearest, who alone have the right to know everything.
There sprung up between us a whole world of mutual understanding and
thoughts, common to us both. Since such a bond ought to exist by
virtue of marriage,--between her and her husband,--I was leading
her towards spiritual faithlessness by such gradual steps that she
scarcely could be aware of it.

Nevertheless, the subtle nature perceived the drift. But I had taken
her by the hand, and led her; yet while leading, I felt a moral
resistance. I was fully aware the resistance would grow stronger if I
pushed much farther, and she perceived the danger. But I saw too that
I was gaining ground, and that step by step I could lead her where I
wanted.

In the meantime I spoke on purpose about the past.

"Do you remember," I said, "how in the days gone by--those happier
days--you asked me why I did not remain in the country, and turn my
abilities to some use. It was when I came home late, and you were
sitting up for me. I cannot tell you even what power you had over
me. I could not then begin to work, I had to go away; then came my
father's death. But I never forgot those words. I