Then, catching her hands again, he dragged her to his level.
"Hear me!" he cried, disregarding the whirling smoke and the fiery baptism that sprinkled them--"hear me! If you value your life, if you value your soul, and if you do not want me to cast you to the beasts like Jezebel of old, never--never take that accursed name again upon your lips.

Seek her--HER?
Yes! Seek her to tie her like a witch's daughter of hell to that blazing tree!" He stopped.

"Forgive me," he said in a changed voice.

"I'm mad, and forgetting myself and you.

Come." Without noticing the expression of half-savage delight that had passed across her face, he lifted her in his arms.
"Which way are you going ?" she asked, passing her hands vaguely across his breast, as if to reassure herself of his identity.
"To our camp by the scarred tree," he replied.
"Not there, not there," she said, hurriedly.