Anybody might have seen it was merely irritation, not conviction, that dictated words I should never have acted upon.  But Aniela had grown very white.  She rose and without apparent reason began to unfasten the cords of the blind with trembling hands.  Fortunately my aunt was so taken aback by the suddenness of my outburst that she did not notice her.  She said something, I did not hear what, as all my attention was concentrated upon Aniela.  It is true that by reasoning I had come to the conclusion that something must be going on in her heart, but to reason out a thing and to see it, are two different things.  As long as I live I shall never forget that white face and those trembling hands.  I had now a tangible proof, which, however I might explain it by the suddenness of my announcement, is still proof enough.  Sudden news either of the death or marriage of anybody that is indifferent to us does not pale our cheeks.

I thought a few days ago:  “Of what use is it to me that she loves me, if that love is to remain forever hidden in her breast?” and yet when I came to read, as I did now, the confirmation of it, my hope rose at once and all doubts vanished.  Again a vision of possible victory flashed before my eyes,—­alas! to be dissolved almost at once into nothing.  My aunt, saying something, went out of the room, maybe to wipe away a furtive tear at my hardness, and I went up to Aniela.

“Aniela dear!  I would not marry that girl for anything in the world, but you ought to enter a little in my position.  I have troubles enough to bear, and even here they will not leave me in peace.  You know best that I could never dream of such a step.”

“On the contrary, I should be glad if that happened,” she said, with evident effort.

“It is not true!  I have seen you changing color,—­I have seen it.”

“Permit me to go away.”

“Aniela mine! you love me! do not lie to me and to yourself; you love me!”

She grew white to her lips.

“No,” she replied quickly; “but I am afraid I might learn to hate you.”

And with that she left the room.  I know that to a woman who fights with herself, a bitter and forbidden love often seems akin to hatred; and yet Aniela’s words staggered me and extinguished the newborn hope, as one blows out a candle.  There are many quite natural things in this world which we are strong enough to bear but for our nerves.  I am struck by a truth not recognized by me formerly, not recognized generally,—­that love for another man’s wife, if only a pastime is the greatest vileness, and if real, the greatest misfortune that can happen to any man; the more worthy the woman the greater the misfortune.  I have a burning curiosity within me, very bitter at the same time, as to what Aniela would do if I said to her:  “Either put your arms round my neck and own that you love me, or I will blow out my brains here before your eyes!” I know it would be the meanest thing in the world,