“Yes,” he cried, catching her by the hands to cover them with kisses, “my wife, whom I shall worship, and take away from this wild, secluded spot to shine like some jewel in King James’s court.”
He dropped her hand, for he heard the founder’s voice without, and left her sitting back—crouched, as it were, in her chair, cold and nerveless.
She had expected this; she had looked hourly for its coming; but now that it had come it was like some fearful shock.
“Gil,” she whispered, at last. “Gil,” as she felt like a bird in a fowler’s net, “why are you not here?”
His name seemed to give her back her strength, and, starting up, she caught sight of her white face in the glass. Then her eyes fell upon the glistening ornament around her neck, and, feeling that it was like a chain that Sir Mark had placed there to secure her to him, she tore at it hastily, the string snapped, and the great lustrous pearls flew with a pattering noise about the floor as she hurried from the room, ran up to her chamber, and threw herself sobbing upon her knees.
How Mace objected to her Bargain.
“Am I a weak child?” cried Mace at last, as she sprang up and wiped away her tears. “I will not sit still, and be sold like this. I cannot be forced to wed a man I hate, and I will not listen to his words.
“When will Gil come back?” she cried; and sitting down she tried to reckon up the number of weeks since he sailed, but her head was in a whirl; and even as she tried to think her hands burned, and she held them from her as if they had been polluted by the kisses they had received.
Then, with a feeling of horror, she thought of the possibility of Gil having witnessed that scene—the clasping on of the necklace, the touch of the donor’s hands, and the tears once more rushed to her eyes as she writhed at her helpless position.