"I'll die," she shivered, thinking of the coming spring.
His burning kisses stung her lips, through which his words tumbled one over the other.
"You can't!... You shan't die!... Tess, you shan't! I'm only going away for a little while.... You're mine, Tess, do you hear?... You've got to live and love me always! You're mine! Oh, my love! Don't cry like that!..."
The crushing strength of his arms hurt her. Suddenly another picture shot across her brain, like a searing rocket. She clung to his arm as if she feared that minute would snatch him from her. Then suppliantly she lifted not only her face, but also her hands.
"Oh, she won't be like I air been to ye—like—like—"
Frederick heard the anguish in the agonized, girlish voice.
"Not like—not like I air been to ye, darlin'. Oh, God, not that!" she cried again.
She waited in panting suspense for a fierce denial. Then she struggled frantically in his embrace. All that was alive within her—all the super-vitalized part of her soul—seemed scorched by the picture his significant silence had painted.
"Let me go!" she demanded.
Frederick tightened his arms about her.