The fierce storm spent itself. There came a pause during which she
lay palpitating against his breast while his cheek pressed hers in a
stillness that was in a fashion more compelling than even those burning
kisses had been.
He spoke to her at last, and his voice was deep and tender, throbbing
with that which was beyond utterance.
"You love me, little new chum," he said.
There was no question in his words. She quivered, and made no answer.
That headlong outburst of passion had overwhelmed her utterly. She was
as drift upon the tide.
He drew a great heaving breath, and clasped her closer. His words fell
hot upon her face. "You are mine! Why shouldn't I keep you? Fate has
given you to me. I'd be a fool to let you go again."
But something--some inner impulse that had been stunned to impotence by
his violence--stirred within her at his words and awoke. Yet it was
scarcely of her own volition that she answered him. "I am--not--yours."
Very faintly the words came from her trembling lips, but the utterance of
them gave her new strength. She moved at last in his hold. She turned her
face away from him.
"What do you mean?" He spoke in a fierce whisper, but--she felt it
instinctively--there was less of assurance in his hold. It was that that
added to her strength, but she offered no active resistance, realizing
wherein lay his weakness--and her own.
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