But there was no one there except Ladislaw. The lights of the railway station gleamed before them, and he drew close to her.
“Give me one kiss, Ethel!” he said, very low.
She hated his voice, she hated to have him so near her, she hated herself. The little wood seemed like a black and sinister forest.
“No!” she said brusquely, as she had often spoken to him before.
This time he was not patient and humble. He caught her arm, and tried to draw her to him.
“You shan’t treat me like a dog!” he muttered.
In growing alarm, she stared at him in the dark, and she fancied she saw his white teeth revealed by a wolfish grin. With a violent wrench, she freed herself. With the swiftness of terror, she ran out of that haunted wood into the safe, bright road before the station.
As she stood there, flushed and panting, trying to consider the situation, he came leisurely up to her.
“You can’t go back now—not after that telegram you sent your aunt,” he said. “There’s nowhere for you to go, except with me. You haven’t even your ticket or your purse. You gave them to me to keep—and I mean to keep them!”
“I don’t care—I’ll walk,” she retorted, in a trembling voice.