"What is this? What do you mean? Take your hand from my wrist," cried the lady, in sharp alarm.
"Not so easy, my lady, that would be. Some things are sweeter than revenge, though that tastes rarely, when one gets a full cup. I thought you would be coming this way, and waited to meet you."
"Meet me? For what?" faltered the lady, shivering.
"Oh, no wonder your voice shakes, till one hardly knows it again," answered the man. "If anything can drive the heart back from your throat, it might be the grip of my hand on your arm. You never felt it so heavy before, did you, now? Can you guess what it means?"
"It means that you are a ruffian—a robber, perhaps, no matter which. Only let me go!"
"A ruffian! Oh, yes; I think you said that once before; but I warn you. Such words cut deep, and work themselves out in an ugly way. Don't attempt to use them again, especially here. It isn't a safe spot; and just now I ain't a safe man to sneer at."
"Why do you threaten me? What have I done to earn your ill-will?" faltered the lady, shuddering; for the man had drawn so close to her as he spoke, that his breath swept with sickening volume across her face, and his hand clinched her wrist like a vice.
"What have you done? Ha! ha! How innocent she is! How daintily she speaks to the ruffian—the robber!"
"I was rash to call you so; but—but you frightened me."
"Oh, yes, I am always frightening you. A kiss from me is worse than a bullet from some one we know of."