He seemed able to breathe more easily. She left him to himself for a while, so that he might regain his strength. She took up a book and began to read. Presently, without moving from his chair, he spoke.
“You must hate me for intruding on you.”
His voice was stronger, and her pity waned as he seemed to recover. She answered with freezing indifference.
“I couldn’t do any less for you than I did. I would have brought a dog into my room if it seemed hurt.”
“I see that you wish me to go.”
He got up and moved towards the door, but he staggered and with a groan tumbled to his knees. Margaret sprang forward to help him. She reproached herself bitterly for those scornful words. The man had barely escaped death, and she was merciless.
“Oh, please stay as long as you like,” she cried. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
He dragged himself with difficulty back to the chair, and she, conscience-stricken, stood over him helplessly. She poured out a glass of water, but he motioned it away as though he would not be beholden to her even for that.
“Is there nothing I can do for you at all?” she exclaimed, painfully.
“Nothing, except allow me to sit in this chair,” he gasped.