"I can't resist you--I can't!" he cried.
"Don't--don't!" she murmured, violently agitated.

"Some one might see!" "Some one is seeing, no doubt," he said, his breath coming quickly, a look that was primeval, ferocious almost, in his eyes as they devoured her.

And, despite her protests and struggles, she was again in those savage arms of his, was again shrinking and burning and trembling under his caresses.

She flung herself away, sank upon a bench, burst out crying.
"What is it, Margaret ?" he begged, alarmed, yet still looking as if he would seize her again.
"I don't know--I don't know," she replied.
Once more she tried to tell him that she did not love him, but the words would not come.

She felt that he would not believe her; indeed, she was not sure of her own heart, of the meaning of those unprecedented emotions that had risen under his caresses, and that stirred at the memory of them.