Practically, she understood that if Mr. Barrett would write to his father, pledging himself to conform to his mysterious despotic will in something, he would be pardoned and reinstated.
He concluded: “Hitherto I have preferred poverty. You have taught me at what a cost! Is it too late?”
The fall of his voice, with the repetition of her name, seemed as if awakening her, but not in a land of reason.
“Why...why!” she whispered.
“Beloved?”
“Why did you not tell me this before?”
“Do you upbraid me?”
“Oh, no! Oh, never!” she felt his hand taking hers gently. “My friend,” she said, half in self-defence; and they, who had never kissed as lovers, kissed under the plea of friendship.