“Tom, you will be ill,” she began, pleadingly.
“Cut that stuff out!” he commanded, his face darkening. “You give me your word to marry me next week, and I’ll let you go!”
The convent to-morrow. The safe bordered walks and walled gardens. The chapel, the refectory, the quiet footsteps and pleasant voices——
“Tom, don’t be angry with me. Of course I will. Of course I will—if——”
“You’ll not sneak to Aunt Flora, and say Tom scared it out of you, and get David to talk me off?”
The girl was silent during a second in which she sought words. But he saw the flicker of self-consciousness in her eyes, and instantly his fury returned again.
“Promise me, as God is your Judge. Swear it!” he said, in a low voice that shook with a passionate effort at control. “Swear it—or I swear I’ll——”
The rest was lost. Gay was smothered in his arms again, her whole body bent backward so that she staggered in the struggle to keep her feet, her jaw caught in the grip of his hard fingers, and her lips stinging and burned and hurt under his kisses. The rich coil of her hair was loosened and fell in a web upon her shoulders, and through her choked throat and crushed mouth her voice came thickly:
“Tom! Tom—for God’s sake—David!”
And suddenly, above the wild envelopment of the wind, she heard her name shouted in answer: “Gabrielle!”