You don't know what I feel--you are torturing me to death." Her sobs were so violent that she could not keep upon her feet, and sank on the floor in front of him.

He lifted her up and set her on a chair, and his own eyes were wet as he said: "I am not suffering less than you, Pilar, but the cup of bitterness must be drunk." "You do not love me," she moaned.

"You have never loved me." "Do not say that, Pilar.

I have loved you, but it is our ill-luck--" "You have loved me, you say.

So you do not love me now?
Wilhelm, speak--do you not love me any more ?" He tried to evade the question.