He was powerless to continue. His head rested in his right hand, while his left hung relaxed at his side; he looked as if he were incapable of motion. Thus he sat there, and spoke not a word. Presently he felt something warm against the hand that hung at his side, and shuddered with terror, for it was Petra’s breath. She was kneeling beside him with bowed head, and now she clasped her hands and looked up into his face with the most unutterable prayer for mercy. He returned her gaze, and the eyes of neither wavered. Then he raised his hand to repel her, as though her gaze had stirred within him a persuasive voice to which he would not hearken, and rapidly, vehemently, he stooped for his hat, that had fallen to the floor, and hastened to the door. But still more rapidly did she throw herself in his way, fling herself down before him, cling to his knee, and fasten her eyes on his—all without a sound. He both saw and felt this to be a struggle for life. His old love overpowered him; with deep pain in his eyes, he once more looked her full in the face, he took her head in his two hands. There was a wailing cry within his breast; it was like the last quivering vibrations of an organ when there is still wind in the pipes but the music has died away.
