Yet had any
other man dared to address her with roughness even, I doubt not that his
speech and his life would have come to a swift and simultaneous end,
for I knew that now, as of old, she could slay by the mere effort of
her will. But she did not slay; she did not even threaten, only, as any
other loving woman might have done, she began to cry. Yes, great tears
gathered in those lovely eyes of hers and, rolling one by one down her
face, fell--for her head was bent humbly forward--like heavy raindrops
on the marble floor.
At the sight of this touching evidence of her human, loving heart all
Leo's anger melted. Now it was he who grew penitent and prayed
her pardon humbly. She gave him her hand in token of forgiveness,
saying--"Let others speak to me as they will" (sorry should I have been
to try it!) "but from thee, Leo, I cannot bear harsh words. Oh, thou art
cruel, cruel. In what have I offended? Can I help it if my spirit keeps
its watch upon thee, as indeed, though thou knewest it not, it has done
ever since we parted yonder in the Place of Life? Can I help it if, like
some mother who sees her little child at play upon a mountain's edge, my
soul is torn with agony when I know thee in dangers that I am powerless
to prevent or share? What are the lives of a few half-wild huntsmen that
I should let them weigh for a single breath against thy safety, seeing
that if I slew these, others would be more careful of thee? Whereas if I
slay them not, they or their fellows may even lead thee into perils that
would bring about--thy _death_," and she gasped with horror at the word.
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