“Miss Dalton, you force me to use violence.”
{Illustration: IN HER FRENZY EDITH STRUCK THAT HAND AGAIN AND AGAIN.}
“You dare not use violence,” said Edith, with a look that overawed the craven soul of Mowbray. For Edith now was resolved to do any thing, however desperate, and even the threat of violence, though she felt that he was capable of it, did not deter her. The two faced one another in silence for a few moments, the one strong, muscular, masculine, the other slight, fragile, delicate; yet in that girlish form there was an intrepid spirit which Mowbray recognized, defiant, haughty, tameless, the spirit of all her fathers, strengthened and intensified by a vehement desire for that liberty that lay outside the gates.
“Well,” said the porter, “I'd better be a-shuttin' the gates till you two settle yer business. She'll dash through if I don't. I see it in her eye.”
“No, she won't,” said Mowbray. “Don't shut the gates; wait a moment.” Then turning to Edith, he said,
“Miss Dalton, for the last time, I say go back, or you'll be sorry.” Edith looked steadfastly and sternly at the captain, but said not one word. The captain looked away.
“Porter,” said he.
“Sir.”
“Hold her horse.”
“But she'll rush through the gates. Shall I fasten them?”