He clasped his hands, and unclasped them, and struck his forehead, and again writhed them together, as if his grief baffled him from speech. Dragging my body towards him, I huddled cowering at his feet.
“What!” he cried; “no word? no word?”
I moaned, and moved my head in negative.
“Grant he stabbed himself under the gallows,” he said, “since he found he could not look on her agony and live. Are you the more guiltless of his death?”
Again I shook my head.
“At least they are together,” he cried. “By so much you did them service, sending her first. But the price, woman, the price!”
I rose, blind, staggering, to my feet.
“It was my honour. I will go and pay it, and die.”
He caught at and held me.
“To whom?”