“You did it for me,” she said at last, “it is all the same, you see; she died because of our sin, what does it matter whether it was by her own act, or by yours, or by mine? The shadow will always be there—always—always between us, setting us apart.”
It was a relief to hear her voice, even though the words were dreadful to hear. He got upon his feet, and paced to and fro, his face lined and twisted with thought, his lips quivering below the line of his dark moustache. The lizards, always fighting, darted between the stones.
“What is to be done, then?” he said, stopping in front of her, his tall, black figure between her and the sunlight.
“You must let me go, and forget me,” she said.
“My God! I can’t,” and he threw himself at her feet, his hands clasped on her knees, his eyes fixed on hers with a wild, despairing entreaty. “Jocelyn—darling—I can’t—I can’t!” and the goatherd’s pipe sent back a faint echo to that bitter cry.
She shivered, and her eyes contracted as if with unbearable pain; then she put out her hand, and touched his hair, it calmed him at once, but he clung to her.
“If you love me,” she said in a half choked voice, “be brave. I can’t bear any more. I can’t face it—I must hide. I must go away, and hide from it.”
“My darling, you promised not to shut me away.”
“I can’t help it, I can’t share suffering, it’s not in me. I must bear it by myself—I know it.”
He would have cried again in words of entreaty and reasoning, but she stopped him, rising to her feet.