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Buck, Charles Neville, 1879-1930

"A Pagan of the Hills"

This
was one of those occasions when the fire in her responded to the fire
in him; when she felt, with a sense of deep misgiving, that she could
not resist him.
"Alexander," said the man, abruptly, dropping his voice from its
impetuous pitch, to a more quiet and yet more ardent quality, "Ye
'lowed oncet thet I shouldn't never tech ye withouten ye said I mout.
I've done obeyed ye--but now." He slowly extended both arms and stood
upright in gladiatorial strength and compelling erectness. "But now
ye're a-comin' inter my arms--of yore own accord--because we was made
fer one another."
Again her lids came down over the girl's eyes and her fingers tightly
gripped the chair-arms for support. Something in her heart was driving
her irresistibly into those outstretched arms and something
else--though that was growing weaker, she thought--kept whispering its
warning, "Steady! Go steady! This is a spell but it isn't love."
She heard the hypnotic voice again. "Ye're a-comin' inter my arms,
Alexander--ye're a-comin'--now!"
Her glance, ranging in desperation, fell on his coat at her feet, and
with the instinct of grasping at any pretext, for a moment of thought
and reprieve, she exclaimed:
"Give me thet coat, Jack!" Having breathlessly gone that far, she was
able to finish with greater self-command.


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