"As fast, but more quietly than before, the warm rain streamed down. There was another sound in her weeping--a softer, more regretful sound. While I watched, her eyes lifted to me a gaze more reproachful than haughty, more mournful than incensed.
"'O Moore!' said she. It was worse than 'Et tu, Brute!'
"I relieved myself by what should have been a sigh, but it became a groan. A sense of Cain-like desolation made my breast ache.
"'There has been error in what I have done,' I said, 'and it has won me bitter wages, which I will go and spend far from her who gave them.'

"This time she wept more softly. Her eyes lifted to me a gaze more reproachful than haughty, more mournful than incensed.
"'O Moore!' said she. I groaned.
"'I have done wrong,' I said, 'and I will go.'
