“Damn!” he exclaimed with sudden vehemence, and stood still, looking down into Hadria’s face, with cruel, glittering eyes.
He glanced furtively around. There was no one in sight. Even little Martha was making mud-pies by the church door. The thick yew trees shut in the churchyard from the village. There was not a sound, far or near, to break the sense of seclusion.
“And you mean to tell me we are to part? You mean to tell me that this is your final decision?”
She bowed her head. With a sudden strong movement, he flung his arms round her and clasped her in an embrace, as fierce and revengeful as the sweep of the wind which sends great trees crashing to the ground, and ships to the bottom of the sea.
“You don’t love me?” he enquired.
“Let me go, let me go—coward—madman!”
“You don’t love me?” he repeated.
“I hate you—let me go!”
“If this is the last time——”
“I wish I could kill you!”