and you, you have let loose a storm, the like of which has never been seen.
Yes, he was letting loose a storm of a kind which has never been known before; he was handing over Krakatit, liberating an element which would blow the boat of humanity into pieces. Thousands upon thousands would perish. Towns and peoples would be wiped off the face of the earth. There would be no limit to the power of anyone who had this weapon in his hands and a corrupted heart. He, Prokop, had done it. Passion is terrible, the Krakatit of human hearts; and all evil comes from it.
He looked at the Princess—without contempt, torn by disturbing passion and sympathy. What was she thinking about now, motionless and as if in a trance? He bent down and kissed her shoulder. It was for this that he was giving up Krakatit. He would give it up and go away so as not to see the terror and shame following his defeat. He would pay the terrible price for his love and go away.
He made a gesture of helplessness. Why did they let him go? What was the use of Krakatit to them while he was still able to give it to others? Ah, that was why they wanted to keep him a prisoner for ever! Ah, that was why he must sell himself to them soul and body! He would remain here, here, fettered by passion, and for ever he would hate this woman; he would struggle in the throes of cursed love, and all the time he would be inventing hellish devices . . . and he would be serving them. . . .
She turned to him with a breathless look. He sat motionless, the tears running down his coarse,
