There was even a shade of awe of him in her eyes.
"It is something to me--and to Donal.

You have never defended yourself.
You endure things and endure them.

You watched for years over an ignorant child who loathed you.

It was not that a child's hatred is of importance--but if I had died and never asked you to forgive me, how could I have looked into Donal's eyes?
I want to go down on my knees to you!" He rose from his chair, and took in his own the unsteady hand holding the embroidery.

He even bent and lightly touched it with his lips, with his finished air.
"You will not die," he said.