“Or is it this old rag of lace that is so unlike my jersey? There—there!” she cried, tearing the lace from her neck, and throwing it on the floor and trampling upon it. “Look at me now, John—look at me? Am I not the same as ever? Why don't you look?”
She was fighting for her life. He started to his feet and came to her with his teeth set and his pupils fixed. “This is only the devil tempting me. Say your prayers, child!”
He grasped her left hand with his right. His grip almost overtaxed her strength and she felt faint. In an explosion of emotion the insane frenzy for destroying had come upon him again. He longed to give his feelings physical expression.
“Say them, say them!” he cried, “God sent me to kill you, Glory!”
A sensation of terror and of triumph came over her at once. She half closed her eyes and threw her other arm around his neck. “No, but to love me!—Kiss me, John!”
Then a cry came from him like that of a man flinging himself over a precipice. He threw his arms about her, and her disordered hair fell over his face.
IX.
“I thought it was God's voice—it was the devil's!”