He was silent. Under her hands she felt the muscles of his arm thrill and swell; against her breast she felt the stifled panting of his breath. To hold him back, was like holding in leash a gazehound when it sees the stag.
"Lay it down, or you are man-sworn, and fore-sworn."
She spoke with a vivid intensity in the words that left her clenched teeth so low, so slowly; she knew every chord in the nature of this man, as fine artists know every note in the diapason of the instrument that echoes and vibrates to their slightest touch.
He held his peace; he would not break his word to her—break his word to a woman, and that woman defenceless, and his mistress, and his life's pledged law; but his hunger of desire was terrible to fall on that sleeping panther lying so near, and to deal on him ten thousand blows.
She saw the struggle in him, and her heart went out to him in it—went out to the strength and the weakness that were so blent in it, the strength of honour and the weakness of passion. How often she had seen these two antagonists strive against each other to hold and to keep a soul!
