"Why don't you go?" the girl pleaded. "It's no use to stay."
He stopped in front of her. "I'm going to marry you, Sheba. Don't think I'll let that meddler interfere with our happiness. You're mine."
"No. Never!" she cried. "I'll take the boat and go home first."
"You've promised to marry me. You're going to keep your word and be glad of it all your life."
She shook her head. "No."
"Yes." Macdonald had always shown remarkable restraint with her. He had kissed her seldom, and always with a kind of awe at her young purity. Now he caught her by the shoulders. His eyes, deep in their sockets, mirrored the passionate desire of his heart.
The color flamed into her face. She looked hot to the touch, an active volcano ready to erupt. There was an odd feeling in her mind that this big man was a stranger to her.
"Take your hands from me," she ordered.
"Do you think I'm going to give you up now—now, after I've won you—because of a damfool scruple in your pretty head? You don't know me. It's too late. I love you—and I'm going to protect both of us from your prudishness."
His arms closed on her and he crushed her to him, looking down hungrily into the dark, little face.