"You shall not do it!" she cried.
His eyes narrowed. "I must remind you," he said, "that I am not a boy. I will do what seems to me right,—right?" he interrupted himself, "why is it you can't see that it is right? Can't you realize that Elizabeth is mine? It is amazing to me that you can't see that Nature gives her to me, by a Law that is greater than any human law that was ever made!"
"The animals know that law," she said. He would not hear her: "That unspeakable scoundrel stole her; he stole her just as much as if he had drugged her and kidnapped her. Yes; I take my own!"
His voice rang through the house; Elizabeth, in her room, shivering with excitement, wondering what they were saying, those two—heard the jar of furious sound, and crept, trembling, halfway down-stairs.
"I take my own," he repeated, "and I will make her happy; she belongs in my arms, if, my God! we die the next day!"
"Oh," said Helena Richie, suddenly sobbing, "what am I to do? what am I to do?" As she spoke Elizabeth entered. David's start of dismay, his quick protest, "Go back, dear; don't, don't get into this!" was dominated by his mother's cry of relief; she rose from her chair and ran to Elizabeth, holding out entreating hands. "You will not let him be so mad, Elizabeth? You will not let him be so bad?"
"Mother, for Heaven's sake, stop!" David implored her; "this is awful!"
"He is not bad," Elizabeth said, in a low voice, passing those outstretched hands without a look. All her old antagonism to an untempted nature seemed to leap into her face. "I heard you talking, and I came down. I could not let you reproach David."
"Haven't I the right to reproach him?—to save him from dishonoring himself as well as you?"
"You must not use that word!" Elizabeth cried out, trembling all over.
"David is not dishonorable."