it, abandoned it, and passed it by, that his fate makes a
slave out of him."

"That is just what I do not understand," said Eleanore, and looked into
his face with a more cheerful sense of freedom. "It wounds my heart to
see you waging a losing battle against self-deception and ugly defiance.
We two cannot think of committing a base deed, Daniel. It is impossible,
isn't it?"

Daniel, plainly excited, bent over nearer to her: "Do you know where I
am standing?" he asked, while the blue veins in his temples swelled and
hammered: "Well, I'll tell you. I am standing on a marble slab above an
abyss. To the right and left of this abyss are nothing but blood-thirsty
wolves. There is no choice left to me except either to leap down into
the abyss, or to allow myself to be torn to pieces by the wolves. When
such a being as you comes gliding along through the air, a winged
creature like you, that can rescue me and pull me up after it, is there
any ground for doubt as to what should be done?"

Eleanore folded her arms across her bosom, and half closed her eyes: "Ah
no, Daniel," she said in a kindly way, "you are exaggerating, really.
You see everything too white and too black: A winged creature, I? Where,
pray, are my wings? And wolves? All these silly little people--wolves?
Oh no, Daniel. And blood-thirsty? Listen, Daniel, that is going quite
too far; don't you think so yourself?"

"Don't crush my feelings, Eleanore!" cried Daniel, in a suppressed tone
and with passionate fierceness: "Don't crush my feelings, for they are
all I have left. You are not capable of thinking as you have just been
talking, you cannot think that low, you are not capable of such languid,
ordinary feelings. The over-tone! The over-tone! Think a little! Can't
you see them gritting their teeth at me? Can't you hear them howling day
and night? Can you possibly say that they are kind or compassionate? Or
are they willing to be good and great when one comes? Do you have
confidence in a single one of them? Have they not even dragged your good
name into the mire? Are any of the things that are sacred to you and to
me sacred to them? Can they be moved the one-thousandth part of an inch
by your distress or my distress or the distress of any human being? Is
not the slime of slander thick upon their tongues? Is not your smile a
thorn in their flesh? Do they not envy me the little I have and for
which I have flayed myself? Don't they envy me my music, which they do