She could scarcely believe he was
the same man. The dumb desolation lifted a little, and a look of under
standing seemed to pierce her tragic apathy. As if a current of thought
had been suddenly sent through her, she drew herself up with a little
shiver, and looked at him as if she were about to speak; but instead of
doing so, a strange, unhappy smile passed across her lips.
He saw that all the goodness of her nature was trying to arouse itself
and assure him of forgiveness. It did not deceive him in the least.
"I won't be so mean now as to say I was weak," he added. "I was not
weak; I was bad. I always felt I was born a liar and a thief. I've lied
to myself all my life; and I've lied to other people because I never was
a true man."
"A thief!" she said at last, scarcely above a whisper, and looking at him
with a flash of horror in her eyes. "A thief!"
It was no use; he could not allow her to think he meant a thief in the
vulgar, common sense, though that was what he was: just a common
criminal.
"I have stolen the kind thoughts and love of people to whom I gave
nothing in return," he said steadily. "There is nothing good in me.
I used to think I was good-natured; but I was not, or I wouldn't have
brought misery to a girl like you.
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