“Wish to marry her? Wish to marry Zuleime? Give her to me! Give me Zuleime! Only give her to me, and then see! She is my right! I claim her by your promise—and I would take her now!”
“But you are certainly mad! You would be miserable with her!”
“Should I? That is my affair! Only give her to me! Come! let me have her to-day, or to-morrow, and I will take her home to Richmond with me,” said Major Cabell vehemently, almost fiercely.
Old Mr. Clifton looked up at him in surprise, amounting almost to fear.
Have I ever described Major Cabell to you? He was a small man, with clear cut, sharpened features, and pale face, surrounded by light brown hair and whiskers, with very handsome dark brown eyes, but with a certain latent ferocity in the eyes, and grimness about the thin, set lips. Somehow or other he irresistibly reminded you of a hyena—especially when he happened to laugh that thin, ungenial laugh.
The old man looked at him in surprise, almost amounting to fear, and then he said—
“But she does not love you now! She cannot love you yet! She loves Frank in his shroud better than any one left alive!”
“I do not care! She must forget Frank, and love me! Women can be made to feel or feign anything, by one who understands them.”
“But her heart is breaking, I tell you!”
“It must stop breaking, and nerve itself to life.”