"For the last time."
He listened like a man pursued: and spoke in whispers.
"Margaret, my race is nearly run, I couldn't finish it, without a parting word with you. Without one grateful word."
"What have you done?" she asked: regarding him with terror.
He looked at her but gave no answer.
After a short silence, he made a gesture with his hand, as if he set her question by; as if he brushed it aside; and said:
"It's long ago, Margaret, now; but that night is as fresh in my memory as ever 'twas. We little thought then," he added, looking round, "that we should ever meet like this. Your child, Margaret? Let me have it in my arms. Let me hold your child."
He put his hat upon the floor, and took it. And he trembled as he took it, from head to foot.
"Is it a girl?"