But he kept his face turned from her, and only muttered, sadly:
“How could you ever forgive me?”
“Look at me, Ketill, and see.”
And he looked up into her eyes.
“It is true,” he said. “Love—only love and kindness there. You have forgiven me—thank you for that, Runa. Heaven bless you.”
He lay still for a while, and his breathing seemed easier. Then suddenly he raised his head and looked round.
“Nothing left now but to die,” he said. “I can see it is getting dark already. Let me see it to the end—the end of the day; the twilight and dear faces round me. I shall not see tomorrow.”
“Do not talk,” said Runa gently. “Do not tire yourself.”
“Let me talk,” he answered, with a smile. “My tongue will not have long to talk at all; it will last me the little that is left. Perhaps it might speak some little word that would live in memory—if only that might be. My friends, do not think I fear to die—that I would put it off a single second if I could. It would be good to live with you, but there is more than that to think of. Only death can make atonement complete—and blessed be death for that it does. Forgive me for my words—I would not hurt you, any one, or make light of your goodness—you, who have forgiven me. But it is true that only death can give me peace and forgiveness of all.”
He looked from one to another of those standing round.