She leapt from the bed and
threw herself against the door, battering against it wildly with her
fists.
She must see him again! She must! She must! She would not be deserted
thus! The bare thought was intolerable to her. Did he hold her so lightly
as this, then--that, having followed her a hundred miles through blinding
snow, he could turn his back upon her and leave her thus?
That could only mean but one thing, and her blood turned to fire as she
realized it. It meant that he would have no more of her, that he deemed
her unworthy, that--that he intended to set her free!
But she could not bear it! She would not! She would not! She would
escape. She would force Jerry to let her go. She would follow him
through that dreadful wilderness of snow. She would run in the tracks
of his wheels until she found him.
And then she would force him--she would force him--to listen to her while
she poured out to him the foolish, the pitiably foolish truth!
But what if he would not believe her? What then? What then? She had sunk
to her knees before the door, still beating madly upon it, and crying
wildly at the keyhole for Jerry to come and set her free.
In every pause she heard the buzzing of the engine. It seemed to her to
hold a jeering note. The outer door was open, and an icy draught blew
over her face as she knelt there waiting for Jerry. She broke off again
to listen, and heard the muffled sounds of wheels in the snow.
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