"To be married!" he answered, never looking at her.
"You—wouldn't—dare!"
"Wait and see!" he nodded.
"Oh!—but what do—you mean?" The fear in her voice was more manifest than ever.
"I mean that you are mine,—you always were, you always must and shall be. So, I'm going to marry you—in about half-an-hour, by special license."
Still he did not even glance towards her, and she looked away over the country side all lonely and desolate under the moon.
"I want you, you see," he went on, "I want you more than I ever wanted anything in this world. I need you, because without you my life will be utterly purposeless, and empty. So I have taken you—because you are mine, I know it,—Ah yes! and, deep down in your woman's heart, you know it too. And so, I am going to marry you,—yes I am, unless—" and here, he brought the car to a standstill, and turning, looked at her for the first time.
And now, before the look in his eyes, her own wavered, and fell, lest he should read within them that which she would fain hide from him,—and which she knew they must reveal,—that which was neither shame, nor anger, nor fear, but the other feeling for which she dared find no name. And thus, for a long moment, there was silence.
At last she spoke, though with her eyes still hidden:
"Unless!" she repeated breathlessly.