Rage filled him suddenly.  “At any rate, this is what I have and all I have,” he said.  “Like it, woman, or by that God! hate it!  Here you are, and here you stay, until—­until I die or until God returns.  You are the only woman in it for me when you step into that house there.  You are its mistress.  I rule here.  But what you want shall be yours at any time you want it.  You can think of nothing in the world that shall not be brought to you when you ask for it.  My servants are yours.  Choose from them as many as you like.”

“Slaves for your slave?  You are full of kindness indeed!  But I shall never be what you delicately call the mistress of Tallwoods.”

“By the Lord! girl, if I thought that would be true—­if I thought for one moment that it were true—­” in a half-frenzy he threw out his arm, rigid.  An instant later he had lapsed into one of the moods new to him.  “There is no punishment I don’t deserve,” he said.  “All the time I have hurt you, when I’d rather cut my tongue out than hurt you.  I’ve seen you, these few days.  God knows, at the hardest—­me at the worst—­you at the worst.  But your worst is better than the best of any other woman I ever saw.  I’m going to have you.  It’s you or nothing for me, and I’m going to have you.  Choose your own title here, then, Madam.  This is your home or your prison, as you like.”

For a moment Josephine paused, looking around her at the surrounding hills.  He seemed to catch her thought, and smiled at her.

“Twenty miles to the nearest house that way, Madam.  None at all that other way.  Every path known and guarded by my people.  No paths at all in these hills out yonder.  Wild animals in them, little food in them for man or woman not used to living wild.  You would be helpless in one day, if you tried to get put.  We’d find you before you’d gone five miles.  Don’t attempt any foolishness about trying to escape from here.  You’re mine, I say.  I shall not let you go.”

Yet in spite of his savagery, his face softened in the next moment.  “If it could only be in the right way!  Look at me, look at you.  You’re so very beautiful, I’m so strong.  There is only one right way about it.  Oh, woman!

“But come,” he resumed with a half sigh, seeking in a rough way to brush back a wisp of hair from his forehead, to join the tangled mane upon his crest; “I hate myself as much as you hate me, but it’s your fault—­your fault that you are as you are—­that you set me mad.  Let’s try to forget it for to-night, at least.  You’re tired, worn out.  I’m almost tired myself, with all this war between us.”

She was silent as they slowly advanced, silent as a prisoner facing prison doors; but he still went on, arguing.