Suddenly the twisting hands worked themselves loose from his, and in another instant her feverish arms tightly encircled his neck. By the weight of Flea's body, Horace Shellington knew that her feet were no longer on the floor, each muscle in the rigid girl having so well done its part that she hung straight-limbed against him. Close to his face drew hers, and for a space of time, the length of which he could never afterward accurately measure, he forgot everything but the maddening expression in her face. Her eyelids were closed, and her breath came hot upon his lips.
"I want ye to kiss me like ye did that night--kiss me--please--please--" In her low voice was illimitable strength and passion.
Like burning rivers, his blood was driven through his veins. He flung out his arms and crushed her to him. Just then his lips found hers.
"Dear God! How I--how I love you!" he breathed.
Fledra's arms relaxed and slipped from his shoulders.
"Then forget about what happened!" she panted.
All the bitter apprehensions of the last week swept over him at her words. His love battled with him, and he wavered. How gladly would he have dispelled every doubt and listened to her pleading!
"But I want you to tell me, Fledra."
Flea backed slowly from him.
"I can't.... I can't.... I can't tell anybody!"
The man ran his fingers across his forehead in bewilderment. In his bitter disappointment he turned away.
"When you come to me," his voice broke into huskiness, "when you tell me what happened that night before you saw my sister, I shall--I shall love you--forever!"
Then came a single moment of critical silence; but it needed only the thought of Ann for the girl to toss aside his plea and turn upon her heel.
"I don't want Sister Ann to know that I love ye," she said sulkily. "Ye won't tell her?"
"No, no, of course not--not yet!" He dropped into his chair, his head falling forward in his hands. "I wouldn't have believed," he said from between his fingers, "that my love for you--"
Flea stopped him with an interruption: "Are ye trying to stop lovin' me?"
Horace shook his shoulders, lifting swift eyes to hers. He noted her expression irrevocable in its decision of silence. She was extraordinarily lovely, and he grew suddenly angry that he had not the power to change her, to draw from her unresistingly the story she had locked from his perusal.