star-gleam in her eyes, her brows knit. A vixen.—What did she want?
'It is from her! I know … it is from her!—She wants you to go to her?' (She was panting out her words.)
'Yes,' I said.
'You will go?'
'Yes.'
'You shall not go! Oh, you shall not go!—I will not let you go!'
I passed slowly by her clenched, upraised hand: then, turning, found her close beside me.
'… My dear girl,' I said, smiling a little evilly, 'she is dying!'
I stood, thinking of Rayne.
'… Won't you say anything to me?' she cried, 'what does she want with you? What right has she with you? You are not hers!—She wants to take you away from me. I know her.—But she shall not!'
Suddenly she stepped to me and caught me by the arm, crying:
'I won't let you go to her! I will not! you shall not go! I will not let you go!'
'Hey?' I said, 'what are you talking about?'—and looked at her.
Realising her to be there,—her, the tool demoniac Circumstance had chosen to undo me with, the plague of a mistake,—her, the red rag flaunted in my face by the thing that fleered and jeered because I could not gore horse or man again,—I concentrated, sudden, unutterable hate in my look at her. She shrank back.
'Ah,' she whispered, shivering, 'don't! Don't Don't. I will let you go. Yes: really, truly, indeed, now, now! Only don't look like that, or I shall shriek.' I turned away my face, indifferent: and thought again.
'… But you will come back?' pleaded she.
'I have told you,' I said, 'yes.'
'You have told me nothing! Promise me that you will come back. Swear to me'
I went to the paper-cupboard; opened it, and stood looking for the time-table. She touched me on the
