I had angled for a new outburst of fury, my catch was not what I looked for. Her hands were stretched out towards me, and her face, pale and tearful, pleaded with me.
"Simon, Simon, you were drowning! Through my—my folly! Oh, will you ever forgive me? If—if you had come to hurt, I wouldn't have lived."
"Yet you were running away from me."
"I didn't dream that you'd follow. Indeed I didn't think that you'd risk death." Then her eyes seemed to fall on my dripping clothes. In an instant she snatched up the cloak that lay by her, and held it towards me, crying "Wrap yourself in it."
"Nay, keep your cloak," said I, "I shall be warm enough with rowing. I pray you, madame, tell me the meaning of this freak of yours."
"Nothing, nothing. I—Oh, forgive me, Simon. Ah, how I shuddered when I looked round on the water and couldn't see you! I vowed to God that if you were saved——." She stopped abruptly.
"My death would have been on your conscience?" I asked.
"Till my own death," she said.
"Then indeed," said I, "I'm very glad that I wasn't drowned."
"It's enough that you were in peril of it," she murmured woefully.