She rose and came tremblingly towards him. She knelt at his feet, though he strove to prevent her,—she raised her large, dark eyes, full of dull agony, to his.
"I've been a wicked woman, Harry," she said, with a strange, imploring thrill of passion in her voice, "I am down—down in the dust before you! Look at me—don't forgive me—I won't ask that—you can't forgive me,—but pity me!"
He took her hands and laid them round his neck,—he drew her gently, soothingly,—closer, closer, till he pressed her to his heart.
"Down in the dust are you?" he whispered brokenly. "My poor wife! God forbid that I should keep you there!"
[!-- H2 anchor --] BOOK III.
THE LAND OF THE LONG SHADOW
[!-- H2 anchor --] CHAPTER XXXI.
| "They have the night, who had, like us, the day— We, whom day binds, shall have the night as they— We, from the fetters of the light unbound, Healed of our wound of living, shall sleep sound!" |