“Oh, you've come at last! There—manage her yourself—the wild beast!” cried the woman, flinging the girl from her towards him.
He caught her in his arms. “Will you stop screaming?” he shouted; but Fan only screamed the louder.
“Stop her—stop her quick, or we'll have those people and the police here,” cried the woman, running to the window and peering out at the broken pane to see if the noise had attracted their neighbours.
He succeeded in getting one of his hands over her mouth, and still keeping her clasped firmly with the other arm, began drawing her towards the door. But not even yet was she wholly overcome; all the power which had been in her imprisoned arms and hands appeared suddenly to have gone into the muscles of her jaws, and in a moment her sharp teeth had cut his hand to the bone.
“Oh, curse the hell-cat!” he cried; and maddened with rage at the pain, he struck her from him, and her head coming violently in contact with the sharp edge of the table, she was thrown down senseless on the floor. Her forehead was deeply cut, and presently the blood began flowing over her still, white face.
The woman now became terrified in her turn.
“You have killed her!” she cried. “Oh, Captain, you have killed her, and you'll hang for it and make me hang too. Oh God! what's to be done now?”
“Hold your noise, you cursed fool!” exclaimed the other, in a rage. “Get some cold water and dash it over her face.”
She obeyed quickly enough, and kneeling down washed the blood from the girl's face and hair, and loosened her dress. But the fear that they would be discovered unnerved her, her hands shook, and she kept on moaning that the girl was dead, that they would be found out and tried for murder.
“She's not dead, I tell you—damn you for a fool!” exclaimed Captain Horton, dashing the blood from his wounded hand and stamping on the floor in a rage.