And for a while she listened, with wondering, dazzled eyes.

But as her eyes looked on me, I grew ashamed, and my voice died away in broken murmurs and stammerings, and at last I was silent.
She drew herself away from me and stood against the wall, while I sat on the edge of the sofa, trembling in every limb, knowing what I had done--loathing it, obstinate not to undo it.

So we rested a long time.
"I am mad!" I said sullenly.
"I love your madness, dear," she answered.
Her face was away from me, but I caught the sparkle of a tear on her cheek.

I clutched the sofa with my hand and held myself there.
"Is love the only thing ?" she asked, in low, sweet tones that seemed to bring a calm even to my wrung heart.

"If love were the only thing, I would follow you--in rags, if need be--to the world's end; for you hold my heart in the hollow of your hand! But is love the only thing ?" I made no answer.