"Oh—"
"Would you?"
"Yes, I—"
He did not relax. His eyes burned her: but deep in them she saw that quality of wistfulness, of pleading.
"You, my Elza, they would rescue—unless I killed you."
She did not move, but within her was a shudder.
"You know I would kill you, my Elza, rather than give you up?"
"Yes," she murmured.
"I—wonder. Sometimes I think I would." Suddenly he cast aside all restraint. "Oh, my Elza—that we should have to plan such things as these! You, sitting there—you are so beautiful! Your eyes—limpid pools with terror lurking in them when I would have them misty with love! My Elza—"
The woman in her responded. A wave of color flooded her throat and face. But she drew away from him.