Chapter XII: Section 11: And after she was gone the boy stood there motionless, not

stirring even a hand. A full minute passed, and the color went out of his cheeks, and the fire out of his veins, and he could hardly stand erect. His head sunk lower and lower, until suddenly he whispered hoarsely, under his breath, “Oh, my God! Oh, my God!”

He looked up at the sky, his face ghastly white; and there came from his throat a low moan, like that of a wounded animal. Suddenly he turned, and fled away down the street.

He went on and on, block after block; but then, all at once, he stopped again and faced about. He gripped his hands until the nails cut him, and shut his teeth together like a steel-trap. “No, no!” he muttered. “No--you coward!”

He turned and began to march, grimly, as a soldier might; he went back, and stopped on the spot from which he had come; and there he stood, like a statue. So one minute passed, then another; and at last a shadow moved in the distance, and a step came near. It was the girl.

“Here I am,” she whispered, laughing.

“Yes,” said Thyrsis. “I have something I must say to you, please.”

She noticed the change in a flash, and she stopped. “What’s the matter?”

“I don’t know just how to tell you,” said Thyrsis, in a low, quivering voice. “I’ve been a hound, and now I don’t want to be a cad. But I’m sorry for what we were talking about.”

“You mean what _you_ were talking about, don’t you?” demanded the girl, her eyes flashing.

Thyrsis dropped his glance. “Yes,” he said. “I am a cur. I beg your pardon. I am so ashamed of myself that I don’t know what to do. But, oh, I was crazy. I couldn’t help it! and I--I’m so sorry!” There were tears in his voice.

“Humph,” said the girl, “it’s all right.”

“No,” said Thyrsis, “it’s all wrong. It’s dreadful--it’s horrible. I don’t know what I should have done---”

“Well, you better not do it any more, that’s all,” said she. “I’m sure you needn’t worry about me--I’ll take care of myself.”

Thyrsis looked at her again; she was no longer beautiful. Her face was coarse, and her anger did not make it any better. His humility made no impression.

“It is so wrong---” he began; but she interrupted him.

“Preaching won’t help it any,” she said. “I don’t want to hear it. Good-bye.”

So she turned and walked away; and Thyrsis stood there, white, and shuddering, until at last he started and strode off. Clear through the town he went, and out into the black country beyond, seeing nothing, caring about nothing. He flung himself down by the roadside, and lay there moaning for hours: “My God, my God, what shall I do?”