tragic eloquence.

``Yes--I forgive you.''

He misunderstood the gentleness of her voice. ``She loves me
still!'' he said to himself. ``We shall die together and our
names will echo down the ages.'' He looked burningly at her and
said: ``I was mad--mad with love for you. And when I realized
that I had lost you, I went down, down, down. God! What have I
not suffered for your sake, Hilda!'' As he talked he convinced
himself, pictured himself to himself as having been drawn on by a
passion such as had ruined many others of the great of earth.

``That's all past now.'' She spoke impatiently, irritated
against herself because she was not hating him. ``I don't care
to hear any more of that kind of talk.''

A customer came in, and while Hilda was busy Mr. Feuerstein went
to the rear counter. On a chopping block lay a knife with a
long, thin blade, ground to a fine edge and a sharp point. He
began to play with it, and presently, with a sly, almost insane
glance to assure himself that she was not seeing, slipped it into
the right outside pocket of his coat. The customer left and he
returned to the front of the shop and stood with just the breadth
of the end of the narrow counter between him and her.

``It's all over for me,'' he began. ``Your love has failed me.
There is nothing left. I shall fling myself through the gates of
death. I shall be forgotten. And you will live on and laugh and
not remember that you ever had such love as mine.''