I remember when--but I will not call it back before you, though, God knows, I go over it all every day and every night, until it seems that only the memory of her is real, and that she herself is a ghost.

I ought not to have crossed her path again, even unknown to her.

But I have done it, and now I cannot go out of that path without kneeling before her once again, as I did long ago.

Having seen her, breathed the same air, I must speak or die; perhaps it will be both.

That is a power she has: she can bend one to her will, although she often, involuntarily, wills things that are death to others.