Presently the deep, regular breathing of my brother announced to me the termination of my vigil. With my heart beating in a suffocating manner, I stole to the door, opened it and stood outside that of Modred’s room. I listened a moment. A humming noise of garrulous voices below was the only sound that broke the silence of the house. Softly I turned the handle and softly crept into the room. There was light in it, for on the wash-hand stand a rush candle burned dimly in an old lanthorn.
He gave a start, for he was lying awake in his bed, then half-rose on his elbow and looked at me with frightened eyes.
“Don’t come near,” he whispered. “What do you want? You aren’t going to try to kill me again?”
I gave a little strangled, agonized cry, and, dropping on my knees where I stood, stretched out my arms to him imploringly.
“Oh, Modred, don’t! Don’t! You can’t think I meant it! It was only a horrible impulse. I was mad, and I nearly drowned myself directly afterward in saving you.”
The fright went from his face and something like its familiar look returned to it.
“Are you sorry?” he said.
“Sorry? Oh, I will do anything you like if you will only believe me.”
“Come here, Renny,” he said, “and stand by me. I want to see you better.”
I obeyed humbly—lovingly.