She was staring at him, her eyes wide with consternation and dismay.

"Think!" she exclaimed. "He's given up his career!"

"Yes," he said, "so it seems."

"It's awful!" she cried. "Oh, how _could_ he!"

He saw the way the news affected her, and he made an effort to control himself. "The man simply couldn't face it," he said. "He didn't dare to trust himself. He ran."

"But Thyrsis!" she exclaimed. "I can't believe it! He's given up his whole life-work!"

"He's fled like Joseph," said Thyrsis--"leaving his cloak in the hands of the temptress!"

And then, the strain proving too much for him, he began to laugh again.

Becoming aware of the stares of some people on the street, he started up the horse, and drove on into the country, where he could be alone, and could give unrestrained expression to the emotions that possessed him.

He imagined the dismay and perplexity of the unhappy clergyman, with his belief in the sacred inst.i.tution of marriage--and with the vision of Corydon pursuing him all day, and haunting his dreams at night. He imagined him trying to face the interview with the husband--with the terrible, conventionless husband, whose arguments could not be answered.

"He simply couldn't face me! He went the very morning I was coming!"

So he would laugh again; he would laugh until he was so weak that he had to lie back in his seat. "I can't believe that it's true!" he exclaimed.

"My dear, I think it's the funniest thing that ever happened since the world began!"

"But Thyrsis!" she protested. "Think what we've done to him! The man's life is wrecked!"

"Nonsense!" said he. "It's the best thing that could have happened to him. He might have gone on preaching sermons all his life--but now he's got some ideas to work out. He'll have time to read books, and to think."

"But he must be suffering so!" exclaimed Corydon, who could not forget her love, even in the presence of his ribaldry.

"He needs to suffer," Thyrsis replied. "He may meet some of the radicals over there, and come back with a new point of view."

But Corydon shook her head. "You don't know him," she said. "He couldn't possibly change. I don't think I'll ever hear from him again."

Thyrsis looked at her and saw that there were tears in her eyes. He put his hand upon hers. "We'll have to worry through for a while longer, dear," he said. "Never mind--we'll manage to make out somehow!"

Section 16. They drove home; and all through supper they talked about this breathless event. Afterwards they sat in the twilight, upon the porch, and threshed it out in its every aspect.

"Corydon," said he, "I don't believe you really loved him as much as you thought. Did you?"

She stared before her without answering.

"Would you have loved him for long?" he persisted.

She pondered over this. "I don't think one could love a man always," she answered, "unless he had a mind."

At which he pondered in turn. "Then it was too bad to drive him away!"

"That's just it," said she. "That's what I couldn't make clear to you."

"But still, we had to find out."

"_You_ may have," she said. "I didn't."

Thyrsis looked, and saw that she was smiling through her tears. He took her hand in his. "We'll see each other through, dear," he said. "We'll have to wait until the world grows up."

He felt an answering pressure of her hand. "Thyrsis," she said, "you must promise me that you will never do anything dreadful like that again. You must understand me; I might think that I was in love, but it would never be real--truly it wouldn't. No man could ever mean to me what you mean--I know that! And I couldn't give you up--you must never let yourself think of such a thing! I couldn't give you up!"

So there came to Thyrsis one of those bursts of tenderness that she knew so well. He put his arms about her and kissed her with fervor; but even while he spoke with her, and gave her the love she desired, there was something in him that sank back and moaned with despair. So the captive sinks and moans when he finds that his break for freedom has led only to the tightening of his chains.

_They stood for the last time before the cabin, bidding farewell to the little glen and all its memories._

"There are lines in the poem for everything," she said. "Even for that!"

And she quoted--

"He hearkens not! light comer, he is flown!"

He laughed. "I can do better yet," he said--

"Alack, for Corydon no rival now!"

There was a pause. "That was five years," she mused. "And there were five more!"

"It will mean another book," he said. "To tell about the new work; and how Thyrsis became a social lion; and how, like Icarus, he flew too high and melted his wings. And then, 'The Exploiters,' the book of his vengeance! And then Corydon---"

"Yes, do not forget Corydon," she said.

"How he watched her dying before his eyes, and how he prayed for months for courage to kill her, and could not, but ran away. And then---"

"It will make a long story."

"Yes--a long story. 'Love's Deliverance,' let us call it."

"They will smile at that. It sounds like Reno, Nevada."

"'Love's Deliverance,' even so," he said. "To tell how Thyrsis went out into the wilderness and found himself; and of the new love that came to Corydon."

"It will be a Bible for lovers," said she.

"Yes," he replied, and smiled-"with a book of Chronicles, and a book of Proverbs, and a book of Psalms, and a book of Revelations--"

"And several books of Epistles," she interposed.

"The tablets in the temple are cracked," he said, "and the fortresses of privilege are crumbling. When the Revolution is here--when there are no longer priests nor judges nor cla.s.s-taboos--then out of the hunger of our own hearts we shall have to shape our s.e.x-ideals, and organize our new aristocracies."

"They will call it a book of 'free love'," said she.

To which he answered, gravely: _"Let us redeem our great words from base uses. Let that no longer call itself Love, which knows that it is not free!"_