"Listen, Frale," she said at last. "Can't you see it's sin for you and me to sit here like this—like we dared to be sweethearts, when you have shed blood for this? Take your hands off me, and let me go down to mothah."
Slowly his hold relaxed and his head drooped, but he did not move his arms. She pushed them gently from her and stood a moment looking down at him. His arms dropped upon the stone at his side, listless and empty, and again her pitying soul reached out to him and enveloped him.
"Frale, there is just one way that I can give you my promise," she said. He held out his arms to her. "No, I can't sit that way; you can see that. The good book says, 'Ye must repent and be born again.'" He groaned and covered his face with his hands. "Then you would be a new man, without sin. I reckon you have suffered a heap, and repented a heap—since you did that, Frale?"
"I'm 'feared—I'm 'feared ef he war here an' riled me agin like he done that time—I'm 'feared I'd do hit agin—like he war talkin' 'bouts you, Cass." He rose and stood close to her.
The soft dusk was wrapping them about, and she began to fear lest she lose her control over him. She took up the bundle of food and placed it in his hand.
"Here, take this, and the coat, too, Frale. Come down and have suppah with mothah and me to-night, and sleep in your own bed. They won't search here for one while, I reckon, and you'll