“You cannot have it!” Edith said, firmly, while she made an effort to free herself from the grasp of her captor.
The next instant she would have screamed for help in spite of his threat, but he, anticipating this, threw one powerful arm around her slight form, placing his other hand at the same time over her mouth, and, lifting her from her feet as easily as if she had been a child, he carried her within the shadow of a door-way in the low building before referred to.
Once there, he sat her down upon her feet again, though he still kept her mouth firmly covered with his hand.
“I’ve got to have it, d’ye hear?” he said, fiercely; “if not by fair means, why, then, by foul. I’ve no wish to harm you, and if you’ll give it up quietly I’ll let you go; if you won’t, it will be the worst for you, that’s all. Will you give it up? Nod your head if you mean yes.”
Editha could scarcely breathe, his hand was so heavily pressed over her mouth and nostrils, and she was absolutely powerless in the strong man’s grasp.
She knew she was at his mercy, but she knew also that he could not get possession of her treasure without removing his hand from her face, which would give her an advantage over him, because she could call for help.
So, instead of nodding her head as he had commanded her to do, she resolutely signified her defiance by a decided shake.
The man uttered a round oath at this.
Evidently he had not anticipated any such determined resistance, and for a moment he appeared undecided what to do.
“I’d like to strangle what little life there is left in that traitor out of him,” he muttered, angrily, referring to John Loker.