She came to his side, and laid one hand upon his shoulder, speaking softly.
"I am very, very sorry that I have hurt you," she said, and waited for him to speak, pressing his shoulder with a gentle touch.
He did not look up, and still he rocked himself gently, leaning on his sword.

The girl suffered, too, to see him suffering so.

A little while ago he had been hard, fierce, angry, cruel, threatening her with a living death that had filled her with horror.

It had seemed quite impossible that there could be the least tenderness in him for any one--least of all for her.
"God be merciful to me," he said at length in very low tones.

"God forgive me if it is my fault--you do not love me--I am nothing to you but an unkind old man, and you are all the world to me, child!" He raised his head slowly and looked into her face.