"Go and give the rose to her to whom you gave the bud," said Gretchen.
The half smile struck me as disdainful. "You are a strange wooer."
"I am an honest one." I began plucking at the bark of the tree. "No;
I shall let the rose wither and die on the stem. I shall leave
to-morrow, Gretchen. I shall feel as Adam did when he went forth from
Eden. Whatever your place in this world is it is far above mine. I
am, in truth, a penniless adventurer. The gulf between us cannot be
bridged."
"No," said Gretchen, the smile leaving her lips, "the gulf cannot be
bridged. You are a penniless adventurer, and I am a fugitive from--the
law, the King, or what you will. You are a man; man forgets. You have
just illustrated the fact. His memory and his promises are like the
smoke; they fade away but soon. I shall be sorry to have you go, but
it is best so."
"Do you love any one else?"
"I do not; I love no one in the sense you mean. It was not written
that I should love any man."
"Gretchen, who are you, and what have you done?"
"What have I done? Nothing! Who am I? Nobody!"
"Is that the only answer you can give?"
"It is the only answer I will give."
There was something in Gretchen's face which awed me. It was power and
resolution, two things man seldom sees in a woman's face.
"Supposing, Gretchen, that I should take you in my arms and kiss you?"
I was growing reckless because I felt awed, which seems rather a
remarkable statement. "I know you only as a barmaid; why, not?"
She never moved to go away. There was no alarm in her eyes, though
they narrowed.
"You would never forgive yourself, would you?"
I thought for a moment. "No, Gretchen, I should never forgive myself.
But I know that if I ask you to let me kiss your hand before I go, you
will grant so small a favor."
"There," and her hand stretched toward me. "And what will your kiss
mean?"
"That I love you, but also respect you, and that I shall go."
"I am sorry."
It was dismal packing. I swore a good deal, softly. Gretchen was not
in the dining-room when I came down to supper. It was just as well. I
wanted to be cool and collected when I made my final adieu. After
supper I lit my pipe (I shall be buried with it!) and went for a jaunt
up the road. There was a train at six the next morning. I would leave
on that. Why hadn't I taken Gretchen in my arms and kissed her? It
would have been something to remember in the days to come. I was a
man, and stronger; she would have been powerless. Perhaps it was the
color of her eyes.