He entered the library and took his place as the special guard of Virginia.
He deliberately took her in his arms and kissed her lips. Her mind was still stunned by the anguish of her failure. There was no longer feeling in body or soul. Nothing mattered.
“You’re mine!” he cried fiercely. “I hold you Cossack fashion now!”
He paused in breathless rage, stepped close and struck her a stinging blow with his open hand. She fell across a divan and he stood over the prostrate body with clenched fists.
“To think,” he growled, “that I made this idiotic blunder to win your smile! Well, it’s mine! I’ve won it—do you hear? You’ve failed! My men are coming—do you hear?”
The slender, graceful form lay limp and still—the face chalk-white. She had swooned at last. The blow was more than unconquered pride could endure.
He gazed a moment with bloodshot eyes, dropped suddenly on his knees and took her in his arms.
“I love you—I love you—and you’re all mine now—all—all mine, body and soul! My Lucretia Borgia—eh? Well, you’ve found your master. And you’re worth the fight!”
CHAPTER XLIV
WALDRON left Virginia to recover, as he knew she would, and hurried again to the tower to rush his garrison. The answer came at once: