had not the heart to bid me begone. That new wicked feeling of triumph,
that new exultation in manly strength, that delirium, that poisonous
frenzy, came flooding over me. Some gesture of hers more than commonly
eloquent may have set me on fire; I may have seen her tremble, I may
have guessed a tear. More insensate folly than mine can be lent by youth
on less security than this. For there sat I quivering with love, and
there before me, unlaced, in loose attire, in all the luxury of
lassitude, breathed and sighed the loveliest of women. I cannot explain
what I dare not extenuate: dowering her with my own madness, I forgot
her honour, my own, the world, and God. I leaned forward towards her,
took her languid hand, and, holding it in my own, said quietly--very
quietly, "I love you--you are my soul."

She laughed gently, then sighed. "You must not say so to me, even if it
is true," she said. I repeated the words, "I love you--you are my soul,"
and she was silent.

I said, after a pause, during which I could hear the furious beating of
my heart, "I am at my prayers, in my church, before my altar. Your eyes
are the candles, your heart is the altar stone. I kneel--" and I did
kneel. Then she grew alarmed, and was for stopping me.

"Checho," she said, "this is foolish, and I must not listen. I beg you
to get up; I know it is late. Please to ask Nonna what's o'clock. I am
serious."

"And I," I said, "am serious. The time is full--the time is now. Oh,
Aurelia," I said urgently, "my saint and my lamp--"

"Hush, hush," she said, and tried to regain her hand. "No, but you must