“Death?”
“Oh, man—man! Have we not suffered enough together? Are you turning to stone? Is it for my sake? I would rather die than do this thing! My heart will have none of it!”
He bowed his head over her hands.
“May I be strong—for your sake!”
“Strong—to wound me—to the death.”
She let go of his hands, drew aside, and knelt staring at the grass.
Presently she spoke, and her voice accused him.
“Are you but a child, Martin, soul blinded, the fool of visions? Life cannot go back. Things happen; it is like the dawn of the day, the birth of a flower. You cannot stay the sun from rising, or bid the sap not flow in the tree. And you have made me love you. I have spoken. Would you put the truth in me to shame?”
He rose up, leaving her kneeling there, and his face was a mist of pain.
“Mellis!”