In his soul he felt that she was a dying woman
unless she had rest and tender care.
As she turned, she saw something in his face-a pity and an agony
of self-accusation-that made her weak and white. She sank into a
chair, putting her hand on her chest, as if she felt a failing of
breath. Then the blood came back to her face, and her eyes filled
with tears.
"Don't-don't look at me like that," she said in a whisper. His pity
hurt her.
At sight of her sitting there pathetic, abashed, bewildered, like
some gentle animal, Will's throat contracted so that he could not
speak. His voice came at last in one terrible cry-"Oh, Agnes! for
God's sake forgive me!" He knelt by
her side and put his arm about her shoulders and kissed her bowed
head. A curious numbness involved his whole body; his voice was
husky, the tears burned in his eyes. His whole soul and body ached
with his pity and remorseful, self-accusing wrath.
"It was all my fault. Lay it all to me. .. I am the one to bear it. . . .
Oh, I've dreamed a thousand times of sayin' this to you, Aggie! I
thought if I could only see you again and ask your forgiveness, I'd-"
He ground his teeth together in his assault upon himself.
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