“What is it, Will? Dear Will, what is it?”
“You must be married on the fifteenth. Get something ready. I will see Mrs. Frostham and ask her to help you a bit.”
“Whom am I to marry, Will? On the fifteenth? It is impossible! See how ill I am!”
“You are to marry Ulfar Fenwick. Ill? Of course you are ill; but you must go to Aspatria Church on the fifteenth. Ulfar Fenwick will meet you there. He will make you his wife.”
“You have forced him to marry me. I will not go, I will not go. I will not marry Ulfar Fenwick.”
“You shall go, if I carry you in my arms! You shall marry him, or I—will—kill—you!”
“Then kill me! Death does not terrify me. Nothing can be more cruel hard than the life I have lived for a long time.”
He looked at her steadily, and she returned the gaze. His face was like a flame; hers was white as snow.