I will thank God. I will go now; I am not tired. I shall be always there, and if you wish for me ever, you will call me. But that will not be.'
Her eyes were full of tears which did not fall. She put her arms about his throat and kissed him, as though he lay dying, and was leaving her for evermore.
'My love—my love—my love!' she murmured.
Then she rose; her face was very pale, her head swam, her limbs trembled still, her hand was wounded and wrapped in linen, and throbbed and ached, but she was ready to go.
He should not think that she had come to call him back to any memory of his debt, or of her sacrifice.
The old heroic light shone in her eyes, the old high courage rose in her heart. She would go back and live in solitude and silence, and if he wished for her he knew the way over the wild thyme and the dewy wood-moss to the moors. She would be always there.
Perhaps some day, when the world had tired him, or strength had failed him, he would remember.
