true! And for that, for this time, you shall go free, if God will help me to let you go! But tempt me not! Tempt me not!” he repeated, turning from her and turning back again with a gesture of despair, as if he mistrusted the strength of the restraint which he put upon himself. “I am no more than other men! Perhaps I am less. And you—you who prate of love, and know not what love is—could love! could love!”
He stopped on that word as if the word choked him—stopped, struggling with his passion. At last, with a half-stifled oath, he flung away from her, halted and hung a moment, then, with a swing of rage, went off again violently. His feet as he strode along the river-bank trampled the flowers, and slew the pale water forget-me-not, which grew among the grasses.
