"Is it not enough that you have taken my life once?" she retorted.
"What do you mean? How dare you say that!"
"I say it because it is true. I have never lived—never. You killed me years ago—all that was best in me. Save your soul from a second murder."
"If you live, do you know what may lie before you?"
"You talk of things 'worse than death.' What shame, what misery could be worse than the years spent at your side?"
"You are mad, Margaret. I shall pay no attention to you. I must save you against your will."
All through the hurried dialogue neither had spoken above a whisper. Even in that moment they obeyed the habit of a lifetime, hiding hatred and bitterness beneath a mask of apparent calm. Without a sound, but with a frantic strength, Margaret wrenched herself free.
"Leave me to my own fate!" she demanded, in the same passionate undertone.
"You have ceased to be responsible for me."
He made one last effort to hold her. In the same instant the firing ceased altogether. There followed the roar and crash of bursting timber, the pattering of naked feet, the fanatic yells drawing every second nearer.
"Margaret!" he cried wildly, holding out his revolver in the darkness.
"If not at my hands, then at your own. Save yourself—"