He saw himself as he was--the hunter and she the hunted--and the
knowledge that he would pay with all the anguish and regret of a
passionate, hopeless love--perhaps for the rest of his life--did not
balance things to his awakened soul. If his years should be one long,
gnawing ache for her, what of hers? And she was so young. His life, at
all events, was a free one; but hers tied to Josiah Brown! And this
thought drove him to madness. She belonged to Josiah Brown--not to him
whom she loved--but to Josiah Brown, plebeian and middle-aged and
exacting. He knew now that he ought to have gone away at once, the next
day after they had met. His whole course of conduct had been weak and
absolutely self-indulgent and wicked.

Who was he to dare to have raised his eyes to this angel, and try to
scorch even the hem of her clothing! And now he had only brought
suffering upon her and dimmed the light in God's two stars, which were
her eyes.

And then wild passion shook him, and he could only live again the divine
moments when she had nestled unresisting in his arms. Would it have made
things better or worse if he had not yielded to the temptation of that
hour of night and solitude?

After all, the sin was in making her love him, not in just holding her
and kissing her lips. And at least, at least, they would have that
exquisite memory of moments of unutterable bliss to keep for the rest of
their lives.