A light sprang into her eyes, the red came into her cheeks.
“Forgive me,” she said again.
“I am your friend—your true friend—no stranger.” I held out my hand. “I thought you understood.”
She kept her eyes upon me, but did not seem to see me. They were hunted, weary eyes; weary to indifference, I saw suddenly. And seeing this I took her slim fingers in mine and pressed them very gently and let them go.
Suddenly her composure broke. She turned whiter, she could scarcely breathe. She moved her head restlessly. “I can’t bear it—I can’t—I can’t! I wish I might fly to the ends of the earth—but there’s no escape.” She brushed her hand across her face. She cowered in her saddle. “It’s awful! I thought he was gone forever—forever, do you understand? Oh, the freedom, the rest—the peace! With his return has come the shadow of an old, old grief. It blots out the sunshine.”
My lips twitched as I attempted soothing words. I took her cold hands and chafed them. “Courage,” I whispered. She shook her head, quivering, panting and undone.
“Oh, I was born to live! Courage? I have none!”
She leaned forward and sunk her head on the pommel of the saddle. After a time she swung toward me. Her hair swept about her flaming cheeks, and veiled her burning eyes. She looked like some hunted wild thing.
“I hate him,” she hissed. “He knows I hate him. He does not care.”
We looked at each other.