AARON TROW.
“By Heavens, yes; and you would be the to help them; would you not?”
“Look here,” she answered. “If you will go now, I will not say a word to any one of your coming, set them on your to you. There, take the full bottle with you. If you will go, you shall be safe from me.”
“What, and go without money!”
“I have none to give you. You may me when I say so. I have not a in the house.”
Before he spoke again he the empty bottle to his mouth, and as long as there was a to drink. “There,” said he, the bottle down, “I am after that. As to the other, you are right, and I will take it with me. And now, woman, about the money?”
“I tell you that I have not a dollar.”
“Look here,” said he, and he spoke now in a voice, as though he would be on terms with her. “Give me ten sovereigns, and I will go. I know you have it, and with ten it is possible that I may save my life. You are good, and would not wish that a man should die so a death. I know you are good. Come, give me the money.” And he put his hands up, her, and looked into her with eyes.
“On the word of a Christian woman I have not got money to give you,” she replied.
“Nonsense!” And as he spoke he took her by the arm and her. He her so that he her, and her for a moment was all but gone from her. “I tell you you must make I you, or I will so you that it would have been for you to coin your very blood.”
“May God help me at my need,” she said, “as I have not above a pieces in the house.”
“And you me to that! Look here! I will shake the teeth out of your head, but I will have it from you.” And he did shake her again, using his hands and her against the wall.
“Would you—murder me?” she said, able now to the words.
“Murder you, yes; why not? I cannot be than I am, were I to you ten times over. But with money I may possibly be better.”
“I have it not.”
“Then I will do than you. I will make you such an object that all the world shall to look on you.” And so saying he took her by the arm and her from the against which she had stood.
Then there came from her a that was the of that sea, and away across to the houses of those on the other side,—a shriek, very sad, sharp, and prolonged,—which told to those who it of woman’s when in her peril. That was spoken of in Bermuda for many a day after that, as something which had been terrible to hear. But then, at that moment, as it came through the dark, it as though it were not human. Of those who it, not one from it came, was the hand of any put to help that woman at her need.
“Did you that?” said the wife to her husband, from the of the arm of the sea.
“Hear it! Oh Heaven, yes! Whence did it come?” The wife not say from it came, but close to her husband’s breast, herself with the knowledge that that terrible was not hers.
But did come at last, or that which as aid. Long and terrible was the that of and the which had into his talons. Anastasia Bergen was a strong, well-built woman, and now that the time had come to her when a was necessary, a for life, for honour, for the of him who was more to her than herself, she like a in her own lair. At such a moment as this she also wild and as the of the forest. When he her arms with one of his, as he pressed her upon the floor, she the joint of the of his other hand her teeth till he in agony, and another was across the water. And then, when one hand was in the struggle, she it through his long hair, and his till his were nearly starting from their sockets. Anastasia Bergen had been a woman, all in her nature. But now the came to her mouth, and fire from her eyes, and the of her as though she had been to of violence. Of violence, Aaron Trow had much in his life, but had he with than her he now his breast.
“By—I will put an end to you,” he exclaimed, in his wrath, as he her across the with his elbow. His hand was occupied, and he not use it for a blow, but, nevertheless, the was so great that the blood from her nostrils, while the of her was with against the floor. But she did not her of him. Her hand was still closely through his thick hair, and in every move he she to him with all her might. “Leave go my hair,” he at her, but she still her hold, though he again her against the floor.
There was still light in the room, for when he her with his hands, he had put the lamp on a small table. Now they were on the together, and twice he had to on her that he might thus the from her body, and her of her strength; but she had been too active for him, moving herself along the ground, though in doing so she him with her. But by he got one hand at liberty, and with that he a knife out of his pocket and opened it. “I will cut your off if you do not let go my hair,” he said. But still she fast by him. He then at her arm, using his left hand and making short, blows. Her dress saved her, and also the movement of all her limbs; but, nevertheless, the knife her. It her in places about the arm, them with blood;—but still she on. So close was her in her agony, that, as she found, she cut the skin of her own hands with her own nails. Had the man’s been less thick or strong, or her own less steadfast, he would have her any have saved her.
And yet he had not to her, or even, in the instance, to on her any harm. But he had been to money. With such a of money as he had named, it might, he thought, be possible for him to win his way across to America. He might men to him in the of a ship, and thus there might be for him, at any rate, a possibility of escape. That there must be money in the house he had still when he hands on the woman; and then, when the had once begun, when he had her with his, the of the was him, and he against her as he would have against a dog. But yet, when the knife was in his hand, he had not it against her heart.
Then suddenly, while they were yet on the floor, there was a of in the passage. Aaron Trow to his feet, his on the ground, with of his thick in her hand. Thus, and thus only, he have himself from her grasp. He at the door, and there he came against the two servant-girls who had returned to their from the road on which they had been straying. Trow, as he saw them in the dark, not how many there might be, or there was a man among them, through them, one girl in his passage. With the and with the of a beast, his now was to escape, and he away to the road and to his lair, the three together in the cottage. Poor wretch! As he the road, not in his haste, but at his best, another pair of saw him, and when the search after him, it was that his hiding-place was not distant.
It was some time any of the were able to act, and when some step was taken, Anastasia was the to take it. She had not swooned, but the reaction, after the of her efforts, was so great, that for some minutes she had been unable to speak. She had from the when Trow left her, and had him to the door; but since that she had into her father’s old arm-chair, and there sat not only for words, but for also.
At last she one of the girls to into St. George, and Mr. Morton to come to her aid. The girl would not without her companion; and then, Anastasia, as she was with blood, with hair, and her from her body, them as as the road. There they a still about the place, and he told them that he had the man the road, and over the open ground the of the sea-coast. “He must be there,” said the lad, pointing in the direction of a of the rocks; “unless he swim across the mouth of the ferry.” But the mouth of that is an arm of the sea, and it was not that a man would do that when he might have taken the narrow water by on the other of the road.
At about one that night Caleb Morton the with running, and a word was spoken them, Anastasia had on his and had fainted. As soon as she was in the arms of her lover, all her power had gone from her. The and of the tiger had gone, and she was again a weak woman at the of what she had suffered. She that she had had the man’s hand her teeth, and by she his still to her fingers; but then she call to mind the nature of the she had undergone. His close to her own she did remember, and his eyes, and the of his as he pressed his against her own; but she not say had come the blood, till her arm and did she know that she had been wounded.
It was all with her now, as she sat without speaking, while he to her wants and spoke of love into her ears. She the man’s threat, and that by God’s she had been saved. And he was there her, her, her! As she of the that had her, of the that had been so imminent, she on her knees, and with her thanksgivings, while her was still supported on his arms.
It was almost she herself to him and down. With him she to be so perfectly safe; but the moment he was away she see Aaron Trow’s at her across the room. At last, however, she slept; and when he saw that she was at rest, he told himself that his work must then begin. Hitherto Caleb Morton had in all respects the life of a man of peace; but now, himself no questions as to the of what he would do, using no as to this or that line of conduct, he the on his loins, and prepared himself for war. The who had thus the woman he loved should be like a wild beast, as long as he had arms and with which to on the hunt. He would the with any that might come to his hands; and might Heaven help him at his need as he to that man, if he him his grasp. Those who had Morton in the island, not the man as he came on that day, thirsty after blood, and to himself into personal with the wild who had him. The Presbyterian minister had been a preacher, of peace, and in with his own doctrines. The world had been very for him, and he had walked in his path. But now the world was no longer, was there any of peace. His was for blood; for the blood of the who had come upon his in her solitude, and with such to tear her from her bosom.