Page:Maud Howe - Atlanta in the South.djvu/275

 all other women, born only to snare and torture!"

He clasped his hot hands together and wrung them mercilessly; he struck his forehead with his clenched hand, moved by that strange instinct which seeks to divert a mental agony by inflicting a physical pain half as intense.

But his rage was of short duration; there was more of grief than of anger in him,—that grief which gnaws at the heart-strings and saps strength and hope, and finally life itself. He loved her too well, too purely, to hold his anger. Sister Gabrielle had spoken truly when she said, "there is more of the spirit than of the flesh about the man." The red flush faded from his brow and cheek, and left him pale and cold with the mortal chilliness of despair. There was no hope; Margaret loved another. Life, which had looked so bright that morning, was insupportable now. He could not bear the thought that seemed to blend spirit and flesh into one ceaseless agony, vibrating through his being with every beat of the heart. He could not bear it! Reason itself would be consumed in that fierce struggle; rather let it be life! The instant the thought struck him he started to his feet, and from his medicine-chest drew forth a small phial containing a deadly drug. Five drops would suffice to ease the feverish pain throbbing in every