She stared up at him, spell-bound, insensibly yielding to the domination of his will. It was inevitable. He was scarcely less desperate than she—and no less overwrought and unstrung; and he was the stronger; in the natural course of things his will could not but prevail. She was little more than a child, accustomed to yield and go where others led or pointed out the path. What resistance could she offer to the domineering importunity of a man of full stature, arrogant in his strength and—hounded by devils? And he in the fatuity of
his soul believed that he was right, that he was fighting for the girl's best interests, fighting—and not ungenerously—to save her from the ravening
consequences of her indiscretion!
The bald truth is, he was hardly a responsible agent: distracted by the ravin
