Perhaps it was this glance which brought
Adelheid to her senses, perhaps it was the something concealed behind
all the fire and passion.
"A freely given and freely received word is an oath," she said, slowly,
"and who breaks it breaks his honor."
Hartmut breathed hard; keen and cruel like a lightning's flash, came a
memory to his soul, the memory of that hour in which he had freely given
his word--and broken it.
Adelheid von Wallmoden looked straight at Hartmut now; her face was
pale, and her voice trembled as she addressed him again:
"I wish you to cease this persecution, which has been going on for weeks
now. You fill me with horror--your eyes, your words, your manner. I feel
that everything which emanates from you is false, and no one can love
that which is false."
"Ada." There was a tone of passionate entreaty in his voice, but hers
had gained in steadfastness now, and she continued earnestly:
"And you do not love me. I have seen for some time that your pursuance
of me was from hate, not love. You and your kind have not the capacity
for loving."
Rojanow was silent from surprise. Who had taught her to read him so
nearly aright?
He had not even acknowledged to himself how closely the love and hate
were united in his breast.
"And you say this to the author of Arivana?" he exclaimed with
bitterness.
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