Yet I saw his
colour change, and I saw him weeping piteously. In my judgment,
the tears and his face confused and pale were not produced by
treachery, nor were they the fruits of trickery. Those eyes from
which I saw tears roll down were not guilty of falsehood. Signs
enough of love I saw, if I know anything about it. Yes, in an
evil hour I thought of love; woe is me that I ever learned it,
for the experience has been bitter. Has it indeed? Yes, verily.
I am dead when I cannot see him who has stolen my heart away by
his cajoling flattery, because of which my heart leaves its
dwelling, and will not abide with me, hating my home and
establishment. In truth I have been ill treated by him who has
my heart in his keeping. He who robs me and takes what is mine
cannot love me, of that I am sure. But am I sure? Why then did
he weep? Why? It was not in vain, for there was cause enough.
I must not assume that I was the cause of it, for one is always
loath to leave people whom one loves and knows. So it is not
strange if he was sorry and grieved and if he wept when he left
some one whom he knew. But he who gave him this advice to go and
dwell in Britain could not have smitten me more effectively. He
is cut to the quick who loses his heart.
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