He knew her strength; it would have been difficult even for him, powerful as he was, to have mastered her in fair wrestling: at least it would have taken time—there would have been a struggle.
But the sudden gag in her mouth not only prevented her crying out, it seemed for the moment to stop her breath; she was, too, sitting down, a position unfavourable to effort. The loop of rope fastened her arms; she was thrown and bound, at his mercy.
Roughly turning her over and over to wind the cord about her, he had not recked that her beautiful face must touch the earth. Now she lay as he had left her on her back, extended at full length; there were marks where a root had pressed into the soft cheek, and a dry leaf adhered to her forehead. Her hat had fallen off—her head was bare.
From below the shoulder to her ankles she was wrapped in a spiral of rope, preventing all movement of her limbs; she could lift her head, her limbs were powerless.
An undulation—a wave of muscular exertion went along her form; with all her strength she strove to burst the cords. They would not yield; her breast heaved—her torso seemed to enlarge as she inflated her chest, and setting her shoulders firmly, arched her back and lifted herself, suspended between the neck and the feet. Twice the undulation passed along her form—twice she raised herself on her neck and heels, the body suspended between—arched—and with her limbs pressed outwards against her bonds. All the strength of her beautiful torso—all the strength inhaled upon the hills—was put forth in those great efforts; the rope stretched, but would not give way. Then she lay still and looked up at Godwin.
His face, usually so black, was blanched to a ghastly paleness—a paleness behind which the dark and sombre expression still remained. Without a word he rushed inside the barn and brought out Ruy, who had been tethered to the broken plough inside.
The reflex action—the brooding—had done this. It was his duty to punish her.
The evil thought had grown in his mind—all her conduct had strengthened his belief that she was Martial’s mistress.
His unapproachable idol had degraded herself—she must be punished—her beauty must be broken as idols were broken. Not in revenge for her loving another, but because she had destroyed her ideal self. She was guilty of crime against herself, and that beauty which she had debased must be ground out of her face forever with Ruy’s iron hoof.
Her lover’s horse—the horse she had fed and petted; yes, under Ruy’s hoof her beauty should perish. One stamp of that hoof and the lovely mould of her features would become indistinguishable. To kill her was nothing; he did not intend that, but that she should live in her crushed shame.
There could have been no more distinct proof of his insanity than his thinking to break the mould without inflicting death, for Ruy’s weight would press down the very brain.
For this chance he had watched morning after morning; but Martial had come too soon, or she had sat looking towards his place of ambush—some little circumstance had delayed him. It was his or Ruy’s movements in the shadow that Felise had seen.
Holding the bridle, he stood a moment and looked down upon the captive.
One glance of intolerable indignation shot from her eyes; then she lifted her head and looked towards the wood—looking for Martial.
He understood, and drew Ruy forward; the horse hesitated to advance, seeing her on the ground almost under him. At the trampling of his hoofs she turned her head again, and comprehended what Godwin intended to do. Her features flushed—it was the suppression of the cry which her gagged lips endeavoured to utter.
Godwin pulled at the bridle. Ruy came up till his hoof cut the sward within a few inches of her ear, but would not step farther. Godwin struggled with the horse and tugged at the bridle. Ruy drew back; for the third time the man conquered and dragged him to her.
In that moment the undulation passed along her form, and she struggled to roll over—to shield her face, to turn it to the ground. Godwin put his foot upon her chest, and pressing firmly prevented her. Dragging at the bridle he had aroused Ruy’s temper; Ruy jerked his head and would not come. Godwin paused and took out his pocketknife, intending to stab the horse and drive him by sudden pain over her.
His foot pressed heavily on her chest.
She raised her head; she saw a quick something pass through the air; it was in itself invisible, yet something passed; there was a sharp report, and she fainted.
The bullet struck Ruy by the temple; he staggered back, reared, and fell over on his side. By main strength Martial dragged Felise away along the ground, lest the last plunging kicks of the horse should strike her; but Ruy did not turn after he fell—he was dead almost instantly. Robert had rushed from the spot at the sound of the rifle.
The little Lancaster oval-bore from which the shot had been fired lay among the thistles at the edge of the copse where Martial had dropped it. Emerging from the wood as he came to meet Felise, he saw Godwin’s foot upon her breast and the horse angrily jerking at his bridle. A shout died on his lips, and the rifle came up to his shoulder. As Robert took out his knife the tube was levelled, and in another instant the ball would have crashed through his brain. But Martial’s good genius, at the instant his finger felt the trigger, caused
