Baroness Orczy

“ Was it a sob? was it a cry? so heart-rending a sound was it, that the very wind seemed to pause as if to listen, in pity.
“Woman,” he whispered hoarsely, “may God have mercy on your soul, for you have gone too far.”
His torture had turned to madness, before his eyes the gloom had suddenly changed to a dark red mist, which was like blood. The wounded beast was at last at bay. With savage fury he threw the white figure down on the floor at his feet, while his hand found the heavy clasp-knife from his belt ”

“ Oh, the bitter irony of it all! the cruelty of this awakening, from the long, beautiful dream!
“Ilonka, will you answer me,” he pleaded.
She did not try to free her wrists, but drew herself to her full height, and stepped quite close to him, letting each word sound distinctly in his ear:
“Hate you, Kemény András?” she began slowly, and earnestly, “hatred is a big word, as great a one as love; I am a very young girl and have seen nothing of the world, beyond the walls of my fathers castle of Bideskút, and therefore perhaps I know nothing of either. ”

“ Since she had, with cold and callous words, with insult and defiance, bruised and trampled on that great love he bore her, if she would not bend to his deep affection, accept and cherish his reverence, he would break her to his will, and there would be pleasure still, pleasure born of hell, perhaps, but as great as the tortures he endured, to make her suffer, as he had suffered. ”

“ The fairy vision has flitted away, but instead of this you have shown me the living reality; an exquisitely beautiful woman, full of passions, of deadly hatred, which speaks of some love, which if born, will be well worth the conquering. That reality I cannot worship; it is far too removed from the pictures of the Saints or of the Virgin, but, perhaps, it comes nearer to my own self, my own nature, low, sordid, vulgar—a peasant you know, the grandson of a serf. That reality, my beautiful wife, is my own ”

“ He understood Nature’s great all-pervading lesson, of a dual existence which is as one, a lesson which neither father nor mother could teach him, but which he had learnt, when first he saw the fairy vision that had become his dream, and first heard the voice which had been angel’s music in his ear. ”

“ No wonder she shrank from his sudden, brutal, clumsy ways.
“Ilonka,” he began very gently, forcing his voice not to tremble so as to reassure her, “many things have frightened you to-day. ... You are still weak and ill, and I do not think that you are able to realise the cruelty of your last words to me. ... Let me take you to your room now. ... My mother said that you would require a great deal of rest ... and perhaps I was rough and clumsy with you ... just now. ... I am but a peasant as you know ... but I can be gentle. ... ”