She rocked to and fro, groaning in sheer despair and terror. His eyes snapped.
“I’m like the boy who drew the nightingale in the lottery,” he muttered. “I’ve got her, and now she won’t sing. Well, we will try the efficacy of force.”
He arose deliberately and stood before her, and their eyes met. Hers were terror-stricken, like a wounded fawn’s; his glittered like a snake’s. Nevertheless, he spoke musically and low.
“If the fair Katie is aware of the value of obedience, she will temper her stubbornness slightly.”
Her eyes wandering vacantly about, fell upon a polished pistol hanging to a peg close by; she noted it. He waited a moment, then laid his hand quietly on her shoulder.
With a wild, piercing cry she shook it off, and darting away, clutched the pistol.
Never opening her lips, but piercing him with her eye, she stood drawn to her full hight, her cheeks pale, her hands quivering, and her whole being aroused.
“Stand back, you monster!” she commenced, in a ringing, grating voice. “Don’t dare to lay your vile hands on me! Keep off, I say!”
She was thoroughly aroused, and her eyes darted angry fire. Irresistibly lovely she looked, and Downing, in spite of his chagrin at her opposition, loved her ten times more than ever. He gazed at her with his heart beating violently, he was so affected by her resolute bearing. Then his lip curled and he advanced on her.
She quickly cocked the pistol and presented it. He halted, but moved slowly around her, trying to find an opportunity for rushing in and disarming her. But, impelled by her terrified modesty, she was wary and kept him at bay. After some time spent in gliding about, he saw it was no use and changed his manner.