I could look on a sea of blood, but not on hers.

Oh, Margaret! how could you be so cruel ?" Margaret smiled with love ineffable.

"Foolish Gerard," murmured she, "to make so much of nothing." And she flung the guilty arm round his neck.
"As if I would not give all the blood in my heart for you, let alone a few drops from my arm." And with this, under the sense of his recent danger, she wept on his neck for pity and love; and he wept with her.
"And I must part from her," he sobbed; "we two that love so dear--one must be in Holland, one in Italy.

Ah me! ah me! ah me!" At this Margaret wept afresh, but patiently and silently.

Instinct is never off its guard, and with her unselfishness was an instinct.
To utter her present thoughts would be to add to Gerard's misery at parting, so she wept in silence.
Suddenly they emerged upon a beaten path, and Martin stopped.
"This is the bridle-road I spoke of," said he hanging his head; "and there away lies the hostelry." Margaret and Gerard cast a scared look at one another.
"Come a step with me, Martin," whispered Gerard.