Could I then go? Would any force then be left in me? Would my will
stand beyond a certain point? I did not know. It seemed the only
safety for us both, the one rock still left in the wild ocean of our
passion--an absolute denial to the rushing feelings to find
expression in the least of acts or words.
I did not believe nor think she could misunderstand me. I felt sure
the struggle and the suffering and the desire must be printed in my
face. I knew she must see in it that I was not cold before the
despairing, passionate longing I saw stirring all her pained,
excited frame. To me it seemed as if she must see me ageing and my
face lining before her eyes. I held her hand in mine hard for a
moment. Then I dropped it gently, and she looked at me--stunned. And
so, unkissed, untouched by my lips that ached so desperately for
hers, I left her and went out through the passages and down the
steps and out of the hotel into the brilliant streets with my nerves
strung tense to sheer agony.
I had acted, of course, in a correct and orthodox manner. No one
could reproach me for the interview just past, but in my heart there
was a self-condemning voice. Pleasure seldom unveils her face and
offers herself to us twice, and Venus is a dangerous goddess to
offend. I said, "Wait, wait," and "to-morrow," but those ominous
lines beat dully through my brain--
"to daurion tis oiden;
os oun et eudi estin.
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