As when the cyclone whirls on itself, just beyond the still storm-centre, and strikes all aback the vessel it has driven before it for hours, so the man's passion had turned to destroy him.

But the holy words stayed his hand.
'Angela! Forgive me!' he cried in agony.
The nun heard him, raised her head and turned; his suffering was visible and appalling to see.

But she found speech to soothe it.
'You did not know what you were saying.' 'I know what I said.' He could hardly speak.
'You did not mean to say it, when you brought me here.' She was prompting him gently.
'No.' He almost whispered the one word, and then he regretted it.

'I hardly know what I meant to say,' he went on more firmly, 'but I know what I meant to accomplish.

That is the truth, such as it is.