“You will not hear?” she said in a tone of wonder.
“No, madam,” I muttered. “I would not have you abase yourself for me.”
She bent her head so that I could no longer see her face, but yet her lovely figure trembled with some suppressed emotion. “You do this for my brother,” she said at length with a sad little smile, “you risk imprisonment—disgrace—for him—and yet I may not even thank you!”
I looked at her, and all the love in my heart leaped into sudden flame. “Nay, madam,” I said gently, “it was for your sake!”
“For my sake—for me?” she cried in a trembling voice.
“Aye, madam,” I answered, “for you—for you—and therefore death itself were sweet!” And stooping, I raised her hand, all unresisting, to my lips.
She did not speak, only I felt her hand tremble in my own, and one great sob shook her ere turning swiftly from me she sank into the nearest chair, and bowing her head upon her hands, broke out into passionate weeping.
For a moment I stared at her in silent wonder. Then I drew near to her side. “Do not grieve, madam,” I said in a low voice. “I think—nay, I am sure—that your brother is now beyond pursuit.”
Suddenly she raised her eyes all misty with their tears to mine. “And do you think, sir,” she said brokenly, “that I weep alone—for him?”
“For whom else should you weep, madam?” I said wonderingly. And then something in her face gave me an inkling of the truth. I drew a long breath and continued: “Almost I could believe, madam, that in your womanly compassion you wept for me! My lady, I am not worthy of one tear from such as you. I am not strong enough to ask you to forget—but only to forgive me that I should cause you grief!” And kneeling at her side, as once before I had done, I raised the hem of her dress and pressed it to my lips.