"
And so we went along. I did not know what to do, nor yet what to say.
A conflict was raging in my heart between shame and love; shame, that a
woman had fought for me and won where I should have lost; love, that
strove to spring from my lips in exultation. I knew not which would
have conquered had I not espied the blood on Gretchen's white hand.
"You are wounded!" I cried.
She gazed at her hand as though she did not understand; then, with a
little sob and a little choke she extended her arms toward me and
stumbled. Was ever there a woman who could look on blood without
fainting? Gretchen had not quite fainted, but the moon had danced, she
said, and all had grown dim.
"Gretchen, why did you risk your life? In God's name, what manner of
woman are you, and where did you learn to use the sword? Had you no
thought of me?" I was somewhat incoherent.
"No thought of you?" She drew the back of her hand over her eyes. "No
thought of you? I did it because--because I did not--I could not--you
would have been killed!"
I was a man--human. I loved her. I had always loved her; I had never
loved any one else.
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