"Grizel, I seem to be different from all other men. There seems to be
some curse upon me that makes me unable to love as they do. I want to
love you, dear one; you are the only woman I ever wanted to love; but
apparently I can't. I have decided to go on with this thing because it
seems best for you; but is it? I would tell you all and leave the
decision to you, were it not that I fear you would think I wanted you
to let me off."

It would have been an honest speech, and he might have said it had he
begun at once, for it was in a passion to be out, so desirous was he
that dear Grizel should not be deceived; but he tried its effect first
upon himself, and as he went on the tragedy he saw mastered him. He
forgot that she was there, except as a figure needed to complete the
picture of the man who could not love. He saw himself a splendidly
haggard creature with burning eyes standing aside while all the world
rolled by in pursuit of the one thing needful. It was a river, and he
must stand parched on the bank for ever and ever. Should he keep that
sorrowful figure a man or turn it into a woman? He tried a woman. She
was on the bank now, her arms outstretched to the flood. Ah! she would
be so glad to drink, though she must drown.

Grizel saw how mournful he had become as he gazed upon her. In his
face she had been seeing all the glories that can be given to mortals.
Thoughts had come to her that drew her nearer to her God. Her trust in
him stretched to eternity. All that was given to her at that moment
she thought was also given to him. She seemed to know why, with love
lighting up their souls to each other, he could yet grow mournful.

"Oh," she cried, with a movement that was a passionate caress, "do you