When one speaks as one feels one generally speaks to the point and this sudden despairing cry of Ned’s was a better plea than any he could by long thinking have constructed.  Wonderful are the intricacies of a man’s mind, but still more intricate the mind of woman.  Nellie at the moment did not care whether he had been saint or sinner.  She felt that her love was vast enough to, wash him clean of all offending and make amend in him for all shortcoming.  She could not bear to see him in pain thus when she was so happy; in uncertainty, in despair, when the measure of her love was not to be taken, so huge was it and all for him.  If he had sinned, and how men sin there is little hid from the working girl, it was not from evil heart.  If he had not been good he would be good.  He would promise her.

“But you will be good now, will you not, Ned?” she asked, softly, not looking at him, dropping her hand against his, stealing her slender fingers into the fingers that nervously twirled the hat.

From bitter despondency Ned’s thoughts changed to ecstatic hope.  He swung round, his hand in Nellie’s, his brain in a whirl.  Was it a dream or was she really standing there in the strong moonshine, her lovelit eyes looking into his for a moment before the down-cast lids veiled them, her face flushed, her bosom heaving, her hand tenderly pressing his?  He dropped his hat, careless, of the watery risk, and seizing her by both arms above the elbows, held her for a moment in front of him, striving to collect himself, vainly trying to subdue the excitement that made him think he was going to faint.

“Nellie!” he whispered, passionately, his craving finding utterance.  “Kiss me!” She lifted up the flushed face, with the veiled downcast eyes and soft quivering lips.  He passed his hands under her arms and bent down.  Then a white mist came over his eyes as he crushed her to him and felt on his parched lips the burning kiss of the woman he loved.  For a moment she rested there, in his arms, her mouth pressed to his.  The rose, shattered, throw its petals as an offering upon the altar of their joy.

The Future, what did it matter to him?  The scaffold or the gaol might come or go, what did it matter to him?  It flashed through his mind that Nellie could be his wife before he went and then all the governments in the world and all the military and all the gatling guns might do their worst.  They could not take from him a happiness he had not deserved, but which had come to him as a free gift in despite of his unworthiness.  And as he thought this, Nellia shook herself out of his arms, pushing him so violently that he staggered and almost fell on the uneven rocks.

“I cannot,” she cried, holding up her arms as if to ward him off.  “I cannot, Ned.  You mustn’t touch me.  I cannot.”

“Nellie!” he replied, bewildered.  “What on earth is the matter?”

“I cannot,” she cried again.  “Ned, you know I can’t.”