The speech was rough, but there was a sudden caress in his voice with the last words, and he had scarcely spoken them when another flash of lightning filled the room with a maddening purple light.
Before the peal broke, Logotheti held Margaret by the wrists, and spoke close to her face, very fast.
'I will not let you go. I love you, and I will not let you go.'
The thunder burst, and roared and echoed away, while he drew her nearer, looking for the woman in her eyes, too mad to know that she did not feel what he felt. He touched her now; he could feel her breathings, fast and frightened, and the quiver that ran through her limbs. He held her, but without hurting her in the least—she could turn her wrists loosely in the bonds he made of his fingers. Yet she could not get away from him and he drew her closer.
She threw her head back from his face, and tried to speak.
'Please—please, let me go.'
'No. I love you.'
He drew her till she was pressed against him, and he held her hands in his behind her waist. The air was clearing with a furious rush of rain, and her courage was not all gone yet. She looked up to the high windows, as one about to die might look up from the scaffold, and there was a streak of clear blue sky between the driving clouds. It was as if hope looked through, out of heaven, at the girl driven to bay.
Margaret did not try to use her strength, for she knew it was useless against his. But she held her head back and spoke slowly.
'For your mother's sake,' she said, low and clear, her eyes on his.