She fought for her freedom then like a terrified animal, twisting this way and that, straining with frenzied effort to escape. And when, his hold encompassing her, he broke down her resistance, pressing her indomitably closer and closer till she lay powerless and palpitating against his breast, she burst into agonized tears, beseeching him, imploring him, to set her free.
"Why should I?" he said, still holding her. "Don't you know yet that it's the very last thing I mean to do?"
"You must! Oh, you must!" she cried back. "You can't—you—you can't—hold me—against my will!"
"That's true," said Saltash, as if struck by something. "And are you capable of leaving me—against mine?" His hold relaxed with the words, and instantly she sprang away from him—sprang like a fleeing bird upon the low parapet beside them, and in a second was sliding out upon the narrow ledge that surrounded the great stone buttress of the turret.
"Hell!" ejaculated Saltash, and gave a great leap as if he would pursue her, then with abrupt effort checked himself.
He stood with one foot on the parapet, and watched her, and in the vague starlight his eyes burned with the old mocking devilry behind which he had so long sheltered his soul.
"So you think you'll get away from me that way, do you?" he said, and laughed his gibing laugh. "Well, you may try. Either stay there till you've had enough—or throw yourself over! I'll get you in any case."
She came to a stand, her hands spread out on each side of her, her eyes turning back to him across the awful space that yawned between. Sheer depth was below her, but she did not seem aware of it.
"I will throw myself over," she said with tense purpose, "unless you promise—unless you swear—to let me go."
He laughed again, but there was no mirth in the glittering eyes that looked back at her, neither mirth nor dismay, only the most arrogant and absolute mastery that she had ever encountered.