So she rested in his arms, panting, rallying, and yet with the prospect before her of renewed pain.
'Jack,' she sobbed, 'I have spoken cruel words to you.'
He kissed her.
'And I might have caused your death.'
'I forget everything now. I would do more. I would do anything for you.'
'I could die now you have forgiven me,' said she, disengaging herself and sinking on a bank of turf.
'No, Winefred,' he said, 'this is not a moment in which to speak of death, but rather of life—ay, and of two lives flowing into one.'
She shook her head.
'I can never forgive myself.'