Hope had gone, dreams were unreal and vanishing
as the mist that crawled along the bog-pools at night.
At the crest of the little hill, just where it sloped down to the
village, he stood and looked back.
Good God! Was he seeing aright! The figure of a man, who in the gray
gloaming looked well-dressed, was approaching Mysie, and she was slowly
moving to meet him. A few steps more, and the man had the girl, he
thought, in his arms, and was kissing her where they stood.
Was he dreaming? What was the meaning of all this? "Oh, Christ!" he
groaned. "What does it all mean?" and he rubbed his eyes and looked
again, then sat down, all his pride and anger raging within him as he
watched, kindling the jungle instinct within him into a raging fire, to
fight for his mate--his by right of class and association. He doubled
back, as the two figures turned in the direction of the copse--the
resolve in his mind to go back and forcibly tear Mysie from this unknown
stranger. He would fight for her. She was his, and he was prepared to
assert his right of possession before all the world.
In a mad fury he started forward, a raging anger in his heart, striding
along in quick, determined, relentless steps, his blood jumping and his
energy roused, and all the madness of a strong nature coursing through
him; but after a few yards he hesitated, stopped, and then turned back.
Pages:
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222