They arrived at evening when everything was hushed and still, and a quiet peaceful calm rested on the home nest. Victoria watched the carriage being driven up to the door, then she fled to her room. She could not meet him yet. Not till the sorrow of being in his childhood’s home, which his eyes never more would gaze upon, had lost its first bitterness. She had seen Mary descend from the carriage weeping, and had seen Andrew assist a blindfolded figure tenderly out, and she realized that she had no part in their grief; that she was only a stranger, and a vague longing took possession of her—a longing to be nearer the stricken one; a wish to take a sister’s part in nursing him back to health and strength.
In a few moments, she went down, but not into the family sitting-room. She took a light wrap from the rack in the hall, and passed quietly out into the fast gathering twilight; but the quick eye of Andrew had seen her form pass the open door, and he followed her, glad of the chance to see her alone. She turned as she heard his step, and although the darkness partly concealed his face, she noticed the glad ring in his voice as he came quickly up to her, and took both her hands in his. “Victoria, sweet one, are you glad that I am back? Did you miss me? Oh how your pure face maddens me,” and before she had realized what he was about to do, he had caught her to him, and had pressed a burning kiss upon her lips.
Victoria struggled to free herself, but she failed, and indignantly looked up into the face of her captor. His eyes shone with a strange light. She felt a dreamy languor stealing upon her, a desire to sleep. What did it mean? Had this man a power over her which she was unable to resist? Horrible thought. She made one more feeble attempt to get away, and then lay passive and quiet in his arms.
He looked gloatingly down at his helpless burden. “I have conquered,” he whispered hoarsely. “She cannot fly from me now. She is mine. Victoria, my sweet angel?”
“Yes,” she answered faintly.
“Put your arms about my neck and kiss me.”
She slowly did as he bade her, but there was no expression in the white face pressed to his, no passion in the kiss. Only a passive obedience to his will, which shamed him, hardened though he was, and he felt no pleasure in the caress which he had been obliged to gain by force. He gently drew her to a rustic seat, and fanned her with his hat. In a few moments she breathed a low sigh and looked up into his face; then she started to her feet and would have fled if he had not caught her arm and held her.
“Let me go,” she cried. “You hurt me.”
“Victoria, be seated for a moment until I can explain,” he said pleadingly. “I have not meant to be harsh with you. Any culprit has a right to plead his cause and ask for mercy. Then will you hear me?”
“I will hear you,” she answered coldly, “but I prefer to stand.”