Rising slowly from her seat, Gwendoline stood for a moment, swaying her tall form back and forth, with outstretched hands, moaning aloud. He took those hands between his own, and again besought her to speak.
“What would you?” she cried, with flame-covered cheeks. “Are you free?”
“Yes! but not as you think—not free as the world would deem me—but free to love you and you alone! Of every thought, where other women are concerned, I am free! Gwendoline!” he cried, passionately, “give yourself to me! Say, am I not everything to you?” and he drew her towards him.
She felt his arms about her, his hot and panting breath upon her cheek, and her heart grew wild within her.
“Not free! not free!” she moaned once more. “Oh! Neil, I know not what to do!”
“Do as I bid you!” His gestures were almost rough in their passion. “One word—will you be mine, and mine alone?”
Still she shrank from him, trembling, afraid to speak. He threw himself before her in a hurricane of passion, and caught her to his breast.
“Tell me, shall I come again?—and when I do, what shall it be?” His voice had grown hoarse and low as he crushed her to his side. Her answer reached him, and he knew then that for them both Heaven would smile, though Hell be at their feet when he came again.
CHAPTER XV.
“SOFT AS ZEPHYR.”
And, even then, in the “City of Violets,” life went on; even then the soft waters flowed against the shore, or, going out to the ocean, carried upon their bosom the stately ships, laden with spoils, and hearts both sad and gay. The sun rose, to set again in the west, just the same as ever; and music was on the streets, while flowers and lights were everywhere.