s by
the temples. There was green in it, queer strands of green like braids.

"What is it?" said I.

"Nothing but weed," said she, with that slow, sleepy smile.

Somehow or other I felt calmer than I had any time. "Look here," said I.
"I'm going to light this lamp." I took out a match, scratched it, and
touched the third wick. The flame ran around, bigger than the other two
together. But still her arms hung there. I bit my lip. "By God, I will!"
said I to myself, and I lit the fourth.

It was fierce, sir, fierce! And yet those arms never trembled. I had to
look around at her. Her eyes were still looking into mine, so deep and
deep, and her red lips were still smiling with that queer, sleepy droop;
the only thing was that tears were raining down her cheeks--big, glowing
round, jewel tears. It wasn't human, sir. It was like a dream.

"Pretty arms," she sighed, and then, as if those words had broken
something in her heart, there came a great sob bursting from her lips.
To hear it drove me mad. I reached to drag her away, but she was too
quick, sir; she cringed from me and slipped out from between my hands.
It was like she faded away, sir, and went down in a bundle, nursing her
poor arms and mourning over them with those terrible, broken sobs.

The sound of them took the manhood out of me--you'd have been the same,
sir. I knelt down beside her on the floor and covered my face.

"Please!" I moaned. "Please! Please!" That's all I could say. I wanted
her to forgive me. I reached out a hand, blind, for forgiveness, and I
couldn't find her anywhere. I had hurt her so, and she was afraid of
me, of _me_, sir, who loved her so deep it drove me crazy.

I could see her down the stair, though it was dim and my eyes were
filled with tears. I stumbled after her, crying, "Please! Please!" The
little wicks I'd lit were blowing in the wind from the door and smoking
the glass beside them black. One went out. I pleaded with them, the same
as I would plead with a human being. I said I'd be back in a second. I
promised. And I went on down the stair, crying like a baby because I'd
hurt her, and she was afraid of me--of _me_, sir.

She had gone into her room. The door was closed against me and I could
hear her sobbing beyond it, broken-hearted. My heart was broken too. I
beat on the door with my palms. I begged her to forgive me. I told her I
loved her. And all the answer was that sobbing in the dark.

And then I lifted the latch and w