The words rushed impetuously from his lips; he thought little and
cared less what he said, so long as he could, by speech, no matter
how incoherent, relieve in part, the terrible oppression of vague
memories that burdened his brain. But she, listening, drew herself
swiftly from his embrace and stood up,--her large eyes fixed full
upon him with an expression of wondering scorn and fear.

"Thou art mad!" she said, a quiver of alarm in her voice ... "Mad as
Khosrul, and all his evil-croaking brethren! I offer thee Love,--
and thou pratest of death,--life is here in all the fulness of the
now, for thy delight, and thou ravest of an immortal Hereafter
which is not, and can never be! Why talk thus wildly? ... why gaze
on me with so distraught a countenance? But an hour agone, thou
wert the model of a cold discretion and quiet valor,--thus I had
judged thee worthy of my favor--favor sought by many, and granted
to few, . . but an thou dost wander amid such chaotic and
unreasoning fancies, thou canst not serve me,--nor therefore canst
thou win the reward that would otherwise have awaited thee."...

Here she paused,--a questioning, keen under-glance flashed from
beneath her dark lashes, . . he, however, with pained, wistful eyes
raised steadfastly to hers, gave no sign of apology or contrition
for the disconnected strangeness of his recent outburst. Only he
became gradually conscious of an inward, growing calm,--as though
the Divine Voice that had once soothed the angry waves of Galilee
were now hushing his turbulent emotions with a soft "Peace be
still!" She watched him closely, . .and all at once apparently
rendered impatient by his impassive attitude, she came coaxingly
toward him, and laid one soft hand on his shoulder.