He stayed his hand, poised it, and she seized it and clung to it.
"Will--as God sees me--I did it for your sake--only to help you. I couldn't get the help unless I sacrificed myself to save you."
Wrenching his hand away he knocked her to the ground, and she lay face downward. But this blow was nothing, purely automatic, like his first blow, not bringing with it that faint sense of something refreshing, the momentary appeasement of his agony. For in truth the torture that he himself suffered was almost unendurable. Yet up to now his pain, though so tremendous, was unlocalized; it came from a fusion of all his thoughts, and perhaps each separate thought, when it became clear, would bring more pain than all the thoughts together.
The world had tumbled about his ears; his glorious life had shriveled to nothing; his pride was gone, his love was gone, his trust in man and his belief in man's creator; and for a few moments one thought grew a little clearer than the rest. The end of all this must be death--nothing less. He was really dead already, and he would not pretend to go on living. He would finish her, and then finish himself.
Turning his head, he looked at the window; and the open space out there seemed to whisper to him, to beg to him, and to command him. Yes, that way would be as good as another--strangle her, pitch her out, and jump out after her.
"Will!" She had once more scrambled to her knees. "I've loved you faithfully. I've never loved any one but you."
He did not hit her. Grasping the arm that she was stretching toward him, he dragged her upward, seized her round the body, and carried her to the bed.
"Now we'll go to work, you and I." He had thrown her down on her back, and he held her with both his hands about her throat. "Now"--and the sudden pressure of his hands made her gasp and cough--"we'll begin at the beginning."
"Do you mean to murder me?"
"Prob'ly. But not till I've 'ad the truth--and I'll 'aarve it to the last word, if I tear it out o' yer boosum."
"You'll kill me if I tell you."
"See that winder! That's yer road--head first--if you try to lie to me."
Then she told him the whole sickening story of her relations with Mr. Barradine. He had debauched her innocence when she was quite a young girl; she had continued to be one of his many mistresses for several years; then he grew tired of her, and, his attentions gradually ceasing, he had left her quite free to do what she pleased. She had never liked him, had always feared him. The long intermittent thraldom to his power had been an abomination to her, and it was martyrdom to return to him.