The Spenders Part 55

She stood by the table, the light from a shaded lamp making her colour glow.

Now she noted that he had not spoken. She turned quickly to him as if to question.

He took a swift little step toward her, still without speaking. She stepped back with a sudden instinct of fright.

He took two quick steps forward and grasped one of her wrists. He spoke in cool, even tones, but the words came fast:

"I've come to marry you to-night; to take you away with me to that Western country. You may not like the life. You may grieve to death for all I know--but you're going. I won't plead, I won't beg, but I am going to take you."

She had begun to pull away in alarm when he seized her wrist. His grasp did not bruise, it did not seem to be tight; but the hand that held it was immovable.

"Mr. Bines, you forget yourself. Really, this is--"

"Don't waste time. You can say all that needs to be said--I'll give you time for that before we start--but don't waste the time saying all those useless things. Don't waste time telling me I'm crazy. Perhaps I am. We can settle that later."

"Mr. Bines--how absurd! Oh! let me go! You're hurting my wrist!

Oh!--don't--don't--don't! Oh!"

When he felt the slender wrist trying to writhe from his grasp he had closed upon it more tightly, and thrusting his other arm quickly behind her, had drawn her closely to him. Her cries and pleadings were being smothered down on his breast. Her struggles met only the unbending, pitiless resistance of steel.

"Don't waste time, I tell you--can't you understand? Be sensible,--talk if you must--only talk sense."

"Let me go at once--I demand it--quick--oh!"

"Take this hat off!"

He forced the wrist he had been holding down between them, so that she could not free the hand, and, with his own hand thus freed, he drew out the two long hat-pins and flung the hat with its storm-tossed cherries across the room. Still holding her tightly, he put the free hand on her brow and thrust her head back, so that she was forced to look up at him.

"Let me see you--I want to see your eyes--they're my eyes now."

Her head strained against his hand to be down again, and all her strength was exerted to be away. She found she could not move in any direction.

"Oh, you're hurting my neck. What _shall_ I do? I can't scream--think what it would mean!--you're hurting my neck!"

"You are hurting your _own_ neck--stop it!"

He kissed her face, softly, her cheeks, her eyes, her chin.

"I've loved you so--don't--what's the use? Be sensible. My arms have starved for you so--do you think they're going to loosen now? Avice Milbrey--Avice Milbrey--Avice Milbrey!"

His arms tightened about her as he said the name over and over.

"That's poetry--it's all the poetry there is in the world. It's a verse I say over in the night. You can't understand it yet--it's too deep for you. It means I must have you--and the next verse means that you must have me--a poor man--be a poor man's wife--and all the other verses--millions of them--mean that I'll never give you up--and there's a lot more verses for you to write, when you understand--meaning that you'll never give _me_ up--and there's one in the beginning means I'm going to carry you out and marry you to-night--_now_, do you understand?--right off--this very night!"

"Oh! Oh! this is so terrible! Oh, it's _so_ awful!"

Her voice broke, and he felt her body quiver with sobs. Her face was pitifully convulsed, and tears welled in her eyes.

"Let me _go_--let--me--_go_!"

He released her head, but still held her closely to him. Her sobs had become uncontrollable.

"Here--" he reached for the little lace-edged handkerchief that lay beside her long gloves and her purse, on the table.

She took it mechanically.

"Please--oh, _please_ let me go--I beg you." She managed it with difficulty between the convulsions that were rending her.

He put his lips down upon the soft hair.

"I _won't_--do you understand that? Stop talking nonsense."

He thought there would be no end to the sobs.

"Have it out, dear--there's plenty of time."

Once she seemed to have stopped the tears. He turned her face up to his own again, and softly kissed her wet eyes. Her full lips were parted before him, but he did not kiss them. The sobs came again.

"There--there!--it will soon be over."

At last she ceased to cry from sheer exhaustion, and when, with his hand under her chin, he forced up her head again, she looked at him a full minute and then closed her eyes.

He kissed their lids.

There came from time to time the involuntary quick little indrawings of breath,--the aftermath of her weeping.

He held her so for a time, while neither spoke. She had become too weak to struggle.

"My arms have starved for you so," he murmured. She gave no sign.

"Come over here." He led her, unresisting, around to the couch at the other side of the table.

"Sit here, and we'll talk it over sensibly, before you get ready."

When he released her, she started quickly up toward the door that led into the hall.

"_Don't_ do that--please don't be foolish."

He locked the door, and put the key in his pocket. Then he went over to the big folding-doors, and satisfied himself they were locked from the other side. He went back and stood in front of her. She had watched him with dumb terror in her face.

"Now we can talk--but there isn't much to be said. How soon can you be ready?"

"You _are_ crazy!"

"Possibly--believe what you like."

"How did you ever _dare?_ Oh, how _awful!_"

"If you haven't pa.s.sed that stage, I'll hold you again."