The bold action aroused his entire fury. He seized her by the waist and flung her brutally to the floor. Bravely she clutched the key within her two hands. He bent over, and furiously struggled to wrest it from her grasp. But it is no easy task—even with far greater strength—to open the fist which is closed in a grim determination. She panted and sobbed, yet fought nobly; he swore and threatened, but could not succeed.
It was terrible. The sweat flowed from his face. Any second he might find himself surrounded by soldiers and his last hope gone. The demon within triumphed. He struck the girl twice upon the side of the head. She sank upon the floor, while the fingers yielded limply. Feverishly he clutched the key, again seeing the world of liberty opening and spreading before him.
He reached the door. With shaking hands he endeavoured to force the key into its place.
Suddenly a new flood of terror passed into his being and robbed the hands of strength. They were unmistakable sounds in the room. Someone had entered. As he started round, a low voice gave utterance to the pitiless words,—
'It is no good.'
Standing in the centre of the floor was a woman, barefooted, bareheaded, with hair streaming wildly over her shoulders, with hungry set look on her colourless face.
CHAPTER VIII
RETRIBUTION
It was Menotah.