“I—­warned you,” he said again.

“I know. . . .  Is it in you to—­destroy—­me?”

“God knows. . . .  Yes, it is.”

She scarcely breathed; only their hearts battled there in silence.  Then he said harshly: 

“What else is there for us?  You would not marry me.”

“Ask me.”

“You would not marry me if I told you——­”

“What?”

“I will not tell you!”

“Are you—­married?”

“No!”

“Then tell me!”

“G-od! No!  I can’t throw this hour away.  I can’t throw love away!  I want you anyway—­if you have the—­courage!”

“Tell me.  I promise to marry you anyway.  I promise it, whatever you are!  Tell me.”

“I—­” An ugly red-stained neck and forehead; his embrace suddenly hurt her so that she cried out faintly, but her hand closed on his.

“Tell me, tell me, tell me!” she pleaded; “I know you are half crazed by something—­some dreadful thing that has been done to you—­” and ceased, appalled at the distorted visage he turned on her.  His arms relaxed and fell away from her.

Released, she stood swaying as though stunned, pressed both hands to her eyes, then let her arms fall, inert.

For a moment they confronted one another; then he straightened up, squared his shoulders with a laugh that terrified her.

“No,” he said, “I won’t tell you!  You go on caring for me.  I’m beast enough to let you.  Go on caring!  Love me—­if you’re brave enough. . . .  And I warn you now that I love you, and I don’t care a damn how I do it! . . .  Now you are frightened! . . .  Very well—­I——­”

He swayed a little, swung blindly on his heel, and lurched out into the hall.

Mechanically she followed, halting in the doorway and resting against it, for it seemed as though her knees were giving way.

“Is that—­to be the—­end?” she whispered.

He turned and came swiftly back, took her in his arms, crushed her to him, kissed her lips again and again, fiercely.

“The end will be when you make an end,” he said.  “Make it now or never!”

His heart was beating violently against hers; her head had fallen a little back, lips slightly parted, unresponsive under his kiss, yet enduring—­and at last burning and trembling to the verge of response——­

And suddenly, passion-swept, breathless, she felt her self-control going, and she opened her eyes, saw hell in his, tore herself from his arms, and shrank, trembling, against the wall.  He turned stupidly and opened the door, making his way out into the night.  But she did not see him, for her burning face was hidden in her hands.

Drunk as though drugged, the echoes of passion still stirred his darker self, and his whirling thoughts pierced his heart like names, whispering, urging him to go back and complete the destruction he had begun—­take her once more into his arms and keep her there through life, through death, till the bones of the blessed and the damned alike stirred in their graves at the last reveille.