“To be happy,” he answered, with the old hard, black light in his eyes.
She almost shuddered as she heard the tone and saw the look, and yet she did not feel as if she could escape the spell of his power.
“To be happy!” she repeated. “To be happy!”
Her voice fell as she spoke the words; Her life had not been a long one. She had laughed a great deal, but she had never been happy. She knew Abel from old days. She saw him now, sodden, bloated—but he fascinated her still. Was he the magician to conjure happiness for her?
“What is your plan?” she asked.
“I have two passages taken in a brig for the Mediterranean. We go to New York a day or two before she sails. That’s all.”
“And then?” asked his companion, with wonder and doubt in her voice.
“And then a blissful climate and happiness.”
“And then?” she persisted, in a low, doubtful voice.
“Then Hell—if you are anxious for it,” said Abel, in a sharp, sudden voice.