Love—and Hate
I did not harm this Tara, though I was sorely tempted to; and after a moment we quieted her. She was crying and laughing by turns; but when we seated her on the divan she controlled herself and fell into a sullen silence. Elza, pale and frightened at her escape, faced the woman, and waved Wolfgar and me aside. Strange little Elza! Resolute, she stood there, and would brook no interference with her purpose. Wolfgar and I withdrew a pace or two and stood watching them.
Tara's breast was heaving with her pent emotion. She sat drooping on the divan, her face buried in her hands.
Elza said gently: "Why did you do that, Tara?"
There was no answer; only the woman's catching breath as she struggled with her sobs. Across the background of my consciousness came the thought that Tarrano or one of his guards would doubtless momentarily appear to investigate all this turmoil. And I was vaguely conscious also that from our instrument room the sounds of an unusual activity were coming. But I did not heed them. Elza was insisting:
"Why did you do that, Tara? Why should you want to harm me?"
Tara looked up. "You have stolen the man I love."
"I?"
"Yes. Tarrano——"
She broke off, set her lips firmly together as though to repress further words; and her fine grey eyes, filled with unbidden tears, were smoldering to their depths with hate.