But
as the struggle endured, she got weaker and weaker, and nature mightier
and mightier. And when the wounded hero fell on his knees so close to
her; when he who had resisted death so bravely for her, prepared to give
up life calmly for her, her bosom rose beyond all control: it seemed to
fill to choking, then to split wide open and give the struggling soul
passage in one gasping sob and heart-stricken cry. Could she have pent
this in she must have died.
It betrayed her. She felt it had: so then came the woman's
instinct--flight: the coward's impulse--flight: the chaste wife's
inspiration--flight. She rushed from her hiding-place and made wildly
for the house.
But, unluckily, Camille was at that moment darting round the tree: she
ran right into the danger she meant to flee. He caught her in his arms.
He held her irresistibly. "I have got her; I have got her," he shouted
in wild triumph. "No! I will not let you go. None but God shall ever
take you from me, and he has spared you to me. You are not dead: you
have kept faith as I have: you have lived.
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