Suddenly the pure flame of spirituality flashed into the soul of Priscilla Glenn. Alone, undefended, facing a hideous possibility, beyond which lay a black certainty of desolation, she rose supreme to protect something that her rudely aroused womanhood must defend, even by death!
"You—beast!" she cried, and all her shrinking fear fell from her. "Go back! Sit down! I have something to say to you—before——" She did not finish, but the pause made Jerry-Jo understand that she recognized her position.
"I'll stand here, by God!" he almost shouted, and came close.
The proximity of the rough, coarse body was the one thing the girl felt she could not bear. She smelled the odour of his wet clothing, felt his breath, and she shrank back a step.
"This—this body, Jerry-Jo McAlpin," she whispered, "is all you can touch. That, I will kill to-morrow—the next day—it does not matter. But the soul of me shall haunt you while you live. Night and day it shall torment and clutch you until it brings your sinful spirit to—to God!"
"You—you devil!" cried McAlpin, all the superstitious fear of his mixed blood chilling him. "You——" And then as if daring the fate she had it in her power to evoke, he rushed toward her and clasped her close in his strong arms. His face was bent over hers, his lips parted from his cruel teeth, but he did not force them upon her.
So here she was—she, Priscilla Glenn, in the jaws of death, she who would have laughed, danced, and sang her way straight into happiness! Here she was, with what on ahead—if she lived?
She waited, she struggled, then she relaxed in the iron hold, and for a moment, only a moment, lost the sense of reality. Presently words that McAlpin was saying came to her in the black stillness of her consciousness.
"I had—to have you! Now that I've shown you my power, I can wait until you come whining to me. I ain't going to hurt you! I want you as you are when you come a-begging of me. I only wanted to prove to you that—I've got you!"
Again Priscilla was aware of the red warmth of the fire, the sickening smell of drying wool, the loosening of the bands of McAlpin's arms.