That, I will kill to-morrow--the next day--it does not matter. But
the soul of me shall haunt you while you live. Night and day it shall
torment and clutch you until it brings your sinful spirit to--to God!"
"You--you devil!" cried McAlpin, all the superstitious fear of his mixed
blood chilling him. "You----" And then as if daring the fate she had it
in her power to evoke, he rushed toward her and clasped her close in his
strong arms. His face was bent over hers, his lips parted from his cruel
teeth, but he did not force them upon her.
So here she was--she, Priscilla Glenn, in the jaws of death, she who
would have laughed, danced, and sang her way straight into happiness!
Here she was, with what on ahead--if she lived?
She waited, she struggled, then she relaxed in the iron hold, and for a
moment, only a moment, lost the sense of reality. Presently words that
McAlpin was saying came to her in the black stillness of her
consciousness.
"I had--to have you! Now that I've shown you my power, I can wait until
you come whining to me. I ain't going to hurt you! I want you as you are
when you come a-begging of me.
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