"AT SUNSET STRANDED"
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hated with the reckless bitterness of the injurer to the injured, the woman whom he loved despite all, though he adored tyranny and evil, and gold and selfish gaíns, and the brutal exercise of a pitiless jealousy, far more.
Then, as they passed away, he staggered to his feet, and stood a moment, in the red after-glow that streamed upon him, erect, quivering, instinet with rage like some lithe, beautiful, murderous forest beast, the ruddy light burning in the glow of his eyes, and cast luridly on the spirited head and perfect form that were graceful and splendid as the legendary beauty of Arinthœus.
"She can love? The world should end to-night!"
