Regina made a sudden forward step and seized his arm. The grip of those slim, white fingers seemed to go down to the bone, and the Rector gave an exclamation of pain.
"Do you know that it's fortunate for you," her white lips said at his ear, "that I have more control than you have, or I should kill you now."
She let go his arm, turned from him and crossed the room. She knew she must go or she would spring upon him and destroy him, as he had destroyed her work; anger in that moment filled her with the strength to do it.
Once in her room she locked the door and sat down over by the window, locking her hands together and forcing them down on the window-sill, like one in mortal agony. Never had she felt before the in-rush of evil upon the soul, but she knew it now. She longed to avenge herself; longed to murder. Her nature was sweet and gentle and pure; her mind always occupied with elevated things; the emotions of malice, of hate, of envy, of cruelty were unknown to her. They never rose in her. But now she was lost, submerged in this awful tide of black hate, that rolled over her, and she struggled in it, powerless to help herself.
"Kill him!... kill him!... kill him!... If I go out of this room, if I see him again, I shall do it."
She struggled vainly to get calmer, to take her eyes from the torn and mutilated beauty on the table near her, vainly....
The passion of fury seethed in all her veins, it seemed a bodily as well as a mental thing. She knotted her hands and unknotted them in an agony, trying to throw from her this evil, hateful thing, this anger that was parching her lips and closing her throat and corroding her brain.
In that supreme suffering the thought came to her suddenly of Everest, and his face, that serene, beautiful, perfect face she so passionately adored, floated before her darkened eyes, as if he were in the room with her. The remembrance of their love, its exquisite tenderness, stole upon her softly. How could she let its shrine—her mind and body—be so invaded by these other revolting emotions?
She strove still harder not to think of her father, not to think of his act, not to remember her ruined work.... And then came the query: "Why not go to him? To Everest? He wanted her.... No one here did...."
He was back in London now; if she went to him he would be only too happy. Had he not said so a hundred times? Her hand went to her neck, and touched the jewel star. On her breast was his note, showing he was planning, wishing for her coming.