Chapter VIII

Last night he came to me, His dark eyes grave and sweet-- (Eyes that I could not meet!) To crave my pardon--_mine!_ With that kingly courtesy Which makes his least deed fine.

What fiend took hold on me? I would nor speak nor heed, Tho' he bent his pride to plead-- (He, all unused to sue!) Though he sought full tenderly For a pardon not _his_ due.

Fool! to have played with fire-- Had I not full often heard How when his wrath was stirred It burst all bounds and leapt Higher and ever higher Like flames by the storm-wind swept?

Yet--tho' his face was white With a passion that shook his soul-- Not once did he waive control, Tho' his heart to its depths was stirred-- He leashed his wrath that night Nor uttered one bitter word.

Pride held me stubbornly dumb, Stilling what words I would say, While I flung my heart's treasure away, While I tampered with fire--to my cost; Till I knew the ultimate end had come-- I had matched pride with love--and lost!