Page:The little blue devil (IA littlebluedevil00mackiala).pdf/282

well—you know what people will say, especially after that other time. . . . Oh, I suppose you think I’m a brute—I know I’m very different from the men you’re used to—but I love every drop of blood in your body. Pamela, it’s no use holding out against me—say yes!”

She sat absolutely still, as white as paper. He could not even tell if she heard him. He pulled up beside the fence and put his disengaged hand on her arm.

“Don’t touch me,” she said, just above her breath.

“Not more than that, unless you attempt to run away. It’s no good if you do. There isn’t a house within miles, and it’s getting dark.”

It certainly was. The air was cold now and there was something sinister about the thick-set trees. Pamela, who found she could only think definitely about unimportant things, regarded them drearily—trees had always seemed friendly before. . . . How long had they sat here—was it hours or minutes? She felt it would go on for ever, this terrible dream from which there was no awakening.

Power began to speak again. She had no idea what arguments he used. She knew vaguely that he was protesting, pleading, commanding, but the only thing of which she was acutely conscious was his hand upon her arm. Everything else seemed rather unreal—the night, the dark trees, Lion and Selim standing motionless in front of her, and Power’s importunate voice. . . . Suddenly her numbed senses quickened. Faintly but certainly came the sound of an approaching vehicle and that deadening impression of unreality was shattered. Power took no notice, but Pamela bent forward, listening, and felt her strength returning as the heavy rumble came nearer.

“People are coming,” she said. “I shall speak to them.”

Power answered in the amused tone one uses to a child: “That will be a lot of good. How are you going to explain things?”