In answer to the call Matt appeared at the door. No sooner did she perceive Monk than she trembled violently, and went very pale.
“Come here, Matt,” he said with an insinuating smile. “See! I’ve brought something for you—something pretty for you to wear.”
As he spoke he drew from his waistcoat pocket a small gold ring, set with turquoise stones. But Matt still trembled, and shrank away.
“I don’t want it!—I sha’n’t wear it,” she cried.
“Nonsense, Matt!” said Monk. “Why, it’s a ring fit for a lady. Come, let me put it on your finger.”
So great seemed her agitation, so deep her dread of him, that she could not stir; so that when he approached, laughing, and caught her round the waist, he slipped the ring on her finger before she could resist. But it only remained there a moment. With a quick, sharp cry, she tore herself free, and, taking the ring off, threw it right away from her upon the sand. Then, with a wild gesture of fear and loathing, she rushed into the cottage.
William Jones walked over and picked up the ring, while Monk stood scowling darkly after the fugitive.
“What the devil ails the girl?” cried the latter, with a fierce oath, pocketing the present.
“I dunno. She’s never been the same since—since the painter chap went missing. I’m afeerd he turned the gal’s head.”
“He’ll turn no more heads,” muttered Monk under his breath; then added aloud and with decision, “There must be an end to this. She must be married to me at once.”