“Very good then, Madame; I am sorry,” I answered. “I have done all that is in my power, and now events will have to take their course.”
I had not gone two steps into the wood before I heard her voice calling my name. She had risen, and leaned with her hand against the oak.
“Does Nick—know that you are here?” she cried.
“No,” I answered shortly. Then I realized suddenly what I had failed to grasp before,—she feared that I would pity her.
“David!”
I started violently at the sound of my name, at the new note in her voice, at the change in the woman as I turned. And then before I realized what she had done she had come to me swiftly and laid her hand upon my arm.
“David, does he hate me?”
All the hope remaining in her life was in that question, was in her face as she searched mine with a terrible scrutiny. And never had I known such an ordeal. It seemed as if I could not answer, and as I stood staring back at her a smile was forced to her lips.
“I will pay you one tribute, my friend,” she said; “you are honest.”
But even as she spoke I saw her sway, and though I could not be sure it were not a dizziness in me, I caught her. I shall always marvel at the courage there was in her, for she straightened and drew away from me a little proudly, albeit gently, and sat down on the knee of the oak, looking across the bayou towards the mist of the swamp. There was the infinite calmness of resignation in her next speech.