e loved her--had always loved her--had
never, never, never been able to forget her. On meeting her again, he
had felt his passion rekindle with such vehemence that it had given him
a kind of shock of terror--as if in one lightning flash he had witnessed
the upheaval, the convulsion of his whole life.

'Hush--hush----' said Elena with a look of pain, and turning very pale.

But Andrea went on, still on his knees, fanning the flames of his
passion by the images he himself evoked. When she had left him so
abruptly, he had felt that the greater and better part of him went with
her. Afterwards----never, never could he tell her all the misery of
those days, the agony of regret, the ceaseless, implacable, devouring
torture of mind and body. His wretchedness grew and increased daily till
it burst all bounds and overwhelmed him utterly. Despair lay in wait for
him at every turn. The mere flight of time became an intolerable burden.
His regrets were less for the happy days gone by than for those that
were passing all profitless for love. Those, at least, had left him a
memory, these nothing but profoundest regret--nay, almost remorse. His
life was preying upon itself, consumed in secret by the inextinguishable
flame of one desire, by the unconquerable distaste to any other form of
pleasure. Of all the fiery ardour of his youth nothing now remained to
him but a handful of ashes. Sometimes, like a dream that vanishes at
dawn, all the past, all the present would fade and fall away from his
inner consciousness--like a tale that is told, a useless garment. Then
he would remember the past no more, as a man newly risen from a long
illness, a convalescent still overcome with stupor. At last he could
forget--his tortured soul was sinking gently down to death.----But
suddenly, out of the depths of this lethal tranquillity his pain had
sprung up afresh, and the fallen idol was re-established higher than
ever. She and she alone held every fibre of his heart captive beneath
her spells, crushing out his intelligence, keeping the doors of his soul
against any other passion, any sorrow, any dream to the end of all
time----

He was lying of course, but his words were so fervid, his voice so
thrilling, the clasp of his hands so fondly caressing that Elena was
profoundly touched.

'Hush,' she said, 'I must not, dare not listen to you--I am yours no
longer, I never can be yours again--never. Do not say these things----'

'No--listen----'

'I