Very quietly at length his voice came to her.  It held just a touch of ridicule.  “What!  Still doing sacrifice to the great god Convention?  My dear girl, but you are preposterous!  Do you seriously believe that I will suffer that drunken maniac to come between us—­now?”

He flung his head back with the words.  His fiery eyes seemed to scorch her.  And overhead the rapturous bird-voice pealed forth a perfect paean of victory.

But Anne stood rigid, unresponsive as an image of stone.  “He is my husband,” she said.

She felt his hand tighten upon hers, till the pressure was almost more than she could endure.  “You never felt a spark of love for him!” he said.  “You married him—­curse him!—­against your will!”

“Nevertheless, I married him,” she said.

He showed his teeth for a moment, and was silent.  Then imperiously he swept up his forces for the charge.  “These things are provided for in the States,” he said.  “If you won’t come to me without the sanction of the law, I will wait while you get it.  I will wait till you are free—­till I can make you my lawful wife.  That’s a fair offer anyway.”  He began to smile.  “See what a slave you have made of me!” he said.  “I’ve never offered any woman marriage before.”

But Anne broke in upon him almost fiercely.  “Oh, don’t you know me better than that?” she said.  “Nap, I am not the sort of woman to throw off the yoke like that.  It is true that I never loved him, and I do not think that I shall ever live with him again.  But still—­I married him, and while he lives I shall never be free—­never, never!”

“Yet you are mine,” he said.

“No—­no!”

She sought to free her hand, but he kept it.  “Look at me!” he said.  “Do you remember that day in March—­the day you saw me whipped like a dog?”

Involuntarily she raised her eyes to his.  “Oh, don’t!” she whispered, shuddering.  “Don’t!”

But he persisted.  “You felt that thrashing far more than I did, though it made a murderer of me.  You were furious for my sake.  Did you never ask yourself why?” Then in a lower voice, bending towards her, “Do you think I didn’t know the moment I saw your face above mine?  Do you think I didn’t feel the love in your arms, holding me up?  Do you think it isn’t in your eyes—­even now?”

“Oh, hush!” she said again piteously.  “Nap, you are hurting me.  I cannot bear it.  Even if it were so, love—­true love—­is a sacred thing—­not to be turned into sin.”

“Sin!” he said.  “What is sin?  Is it sin to fulfil the very purpose for which you were created?”

But at that she winced so sharply that he knew he had gone too far.  It was characteristic of the man that he made no attempt to recover lost ground.

“I’m a wicked pagan no doubt,” he said, with a touch of recklessness.  “Everyone will tell you so.  I fancy I’ve told you so myself more than once.  Yet you needn’t shrink as if I were unclean.  I have done nothing that you would hate me for since I have known you.”