“Then mourn for it now, you cold-hearted girl,” he answered, vaulting lightly over a fence beside which they had been walking; and grinning teasingly at her from the other side, he added, “I’ve had enough of it and of you. Good-night. Good-by.”
Nellie caught his arm in both her hands, and held it with all her strength.
“I’ll call for help, Bob. Be careful. No, no, you shan’t slip through my fingers.”
“Do you really suppose you could hold me, my dear Nellie?” he asked, looking down at her, and touching for an instant the two hands on his coat-sleeve with his large hand.
For all answer Nellie lifted up her voice and sent as loud a call as she could achieve into the empty night.
“Oh, they’ll never hear that,” said Vickers, “let me do it for you,” and he shouted loudly: “Help, help, help! She’s holding me against my will. Won’t somebody remove this terrible young woman? Help!”
Nellie could not resist smiling at his obvious enjoyment of the noise he was making. “How silly you are, Bob!” she said. Perhaps she unconsciously relaxed her grip, for the next instant he had wrenched himself free, and retreating a few paces, addressed her from a safe distance.
“Shall I really go, Nellie? Good-by to the old house and poor Emmons, and to you and our inspiriting little scraps. Well, I rather think so. Don’t be so sharp with the next victim—that’s my parting word. Good-by!”
He waved his hand lightly and set off across a moonlit field toward the woods on the other side.
Nellie did not hesitate an instant; she climbed the fence and followed him with all the speed of a long and active pair of legs. Once in the shadow of the woods, however, he was pleased to pause—to disappear into the darkness to reappear at her elbow, to lean out and speak in her ear from behind a sheltering tree-trunk.