"It is too late," he said coldly.
This in itself was a humiliation the proud Colina could not have conceived herself living after. From between narrowed lids she shot him a glance of the purest hate, and quickly turned away.
The riding crop switched the air like the tail of an angry cat. There was a silence. All watched to see what she would do next.
Meanwhile the mill was grinding smoothly. The young miller was hidden from Colina by the barricade of grain bags. Finally she looked over the top and saw him attending the machine.
"Greer!" she exclaimed in surprise.
The boy started, and turned a pair of stricken eyes in her direction. His ruddy cheeks paled a little. Manifestly she wielded a power over him too.
"Are you against me?" she murmured sadly.
This was the same tone she had just used to Ambrose. His lip curled. "He has to do what I tell him or be knocked on the head," he said quickly.
Colina ignored this. "You could fight for me if you would," she murmured to the boy.
A hot little flame of jealousy scorched Ambrose's breast. He laughed jeeringly. "Who's next?" he cried.