feelings for some one better, more worthy of them.
His head drooped. In his breast also something was beginning to thaw; that festal feeling was warming his heart and taking him above himself. He said: ‘For God’s sake, forgive me!’ and threw the gun into the field of nodding anemones. They were still obstinately repeating: ‘No, no, no, no!’ although no one minded them.
Martin knew from the new light which had come into the poacher’s eyes, from the humble droop of his head and the sweetness of his tone, that he had understood. He said: ‘You too forgive me, for God’s sake.’ He held out his hand to him. The poacher drew near. They clasped hands in a firm strong grip. The tears they could have wept, the tenderness of an embrace, were enclosed in this pressure of their hands.
‘Have you forgiven me?’ asked Martin with relief in his voice.
‘I have forgiven you.’
Another pressure of their hands, and they parted. The poacher disappeared in the bushes.
Martin took a deep breath and returned to the earth from a strange sphere in which he
