And now that he saw the clumsy-handed thugs rifling his sweetheart's jewelry, he felt all that he had foreseen, and his head fought almost in vain against the white fire of his heart. Between them he trembled like a leaf, and the sweat globed on his forehead.
The worst of it was the shivering terror of Marjorie, and the pitiful eyes she turned on him. But he clenched his teeth and waited, thinking fiercely, watching, like a hovering eagle, a chance to swoop.
But the robbers kept glancing this way and that, and one motion would mean death. They themselves were so overwrought with their own ordeal and its immediate conclusion, that they would have killed anybody. Mallory shifted his foot cautiously, and instantly a gun was jabbed into his stomach, with a snarl: "Don't you move!"
"Who's moving?" Mallory answered, with a poor imitation of a careless laugh.
And now the man called Bill had reached Marjorie's right hand. He chortled: "Golly, look at the shiners."
But Jake, who had chosen Marjorie's left hand, roared:
"Say, you cheated. All I get is this measly plain gold band."
"Oh, don't take that!" Marjorie gasped, clenching her hand.
Mallory's heart ached at the thought of this final sacrilege. He had the license, and the minister at last—and now the fiends were going to carry off the wedding ring. He controlled himself with a desperate effort, and stooped to plead: "Say, old man, don't take that. That's not fair."
"Shut up, both of you," Jake growled, and jabbed him again with the gun.