Before she could speak, the voice went on, "Little rebel, sweet little rebel, will you not surrender to—a vanquished victor?" And with this, a kiss was pressed upon her lips.
At first Dorothy had been too startled to speak,—too frightened and dumb from the tumult his caressing voice had aroused within her. But the touch of his lips awakened her like a blow.
"How dare you?" she cried, struggling from his arms. "Oh, how I wish I had never seen you!"
"You can scarce expect me to feel likewise," he said calmly, smiling into her stormy little face, "for I—"
"Never speak to me again!" she interrupted, still more hotly. And then, as the tears of anger choked her voice, she turned from him and fled away down the path.
For a time she heard him in pursuit; and this made her run all the swifter, until at last, reaching the Salem road, she glanced back as she mounted the low stone wall, and saw that he had stopped where the timber ended, and stood watching her. Then without turning to look again, she went quickly across the sunlit meadow-land.
Her breath came sobbingly; and mingled with her terror was a feeling she could not define, but which told her that life would never be the same for her again. She still felt the clasp of his arms about her, the burning of his lips upon her hands,—their pressure upon her mouth. His voice still came caressingly to her ears, and the wind seemed to be his breath over her hair.
It was not long before she saw Pashar coming to meet her; and drawing the hood about her face, she bade him go for the basket she had left in the wood. Then, without waiting for him to return with it, she hastened directly to her father's house.
She reached her own room without having encountered any of the household, and throwing off her cloak went to the glass. There, resting her elbows on the low, broad shelf, and dropping her soft round chin into her small palms, she seemed to be studying what the mirror showed to her,—studying it with as much interest as though she now saw the reflection of her features for the first time.
"You are a wicked, treacherous girl," she said aloud, addressing the charming face staring back at her with great solemn eyes, "a perfect little traitor." Then—but now to herself—"Moll said his heart turned toward me as the flowers to the sun. And if this be true, why is it not also truth that sorrow is to come with it?" She shivered, and pressed her hands over her eyes.