And here's the poem!" and at that a great cry of terror leaped from Clementina's lips and held them both aghast.
Wogan had risen from his seat; with a violent gesture he had thrown back his cloak, and his coat beneath was stained and dark with blood.
Clementina stood opposite to him, all her quiet and her calmness gone.
There was no longer any mystery in her eyes.

Her bosom rose and fell; she pointed a trembling hand towards his breast.
"You are hurt.

Again for love of me you are hurt." "It is not my wound," he answered.

"It is blood I spilt for you;" he took a step towards her, and in a second she was between his arms, sobbing with all the violence of passion which she had so long restrained.

Wogan was wrung by it.