He went forward, rather vaguely. She had taken off her belt, and swinging it, she fetched him a sharp blow over the head with the buckle end. He sprang and seized her. But immediately the other girls rushed upon him, pulling and tearing and beating him. Their blood was now thoroughly up. He was their sport now. They were going to have their own back, out of him. Strange, wild creatures, they hung on him and rushed at him to bear him down. His tunic was torn right up the back, Nora had hold at the back of his collar, and was actually strangling him. Luckily the button burst. He struggled in a wild frenzy of fury and terror, almost mad terror. His tunic was simply torn off his back, his shirt-sleeves were torn away, his arms were naked. The girls rushed at him, clenched their hands on him and pulled at him: or they rushed at him and pushed him, butted him with all their might: or they struck him wild blows. He ducked and cringed and struck sideways. They became more intense. At last he was down. They rushed on him, kneeling on him. He had neither breath nor strength to move. His face was bleeding with a long scratch, his brow was bruised. Annie knelt on him, the other girls knelt and hung on to him. Their faces were flushed, their hair wild, their eyes were all glittering strangely. He lay at last quite still, with face averted, as an animal lies when it is defeated and at the mercy of the captor. Sometimes his eye glanced back at the wild faces of the girls. His breast rose heavily, his wrists were torn. “Now, then, my fellow!” gasped Annie at length. “Now then—now—” At the sound of her terrifying, cold triumph, he suddenly started to struggle as an animal might, but the girls threw themselves upon him with unnatural strength and power, forcing him down. “Yes—now, then!” gasped Annie at length. And there was a dead silence, in which the thud of heart-beating was to be heard. It was a suspense of pure silence in every soul. “Now you know where you are,” said Annie. The sight of his white, bare arm maddened the girls. He lay in a kind of trance of fear and antagonism. They felt themselves filled with supernatural strength. Suddenly Polly started to laugh—to giggle wildly—helplessly—and Emma and Muriel joined in. But Annie and Nora and Laura remained the same, tense, watchful, with gleaming eyes. He winced away from these eyes. “Yes,” said Annie, in a curious low tone, secret and deadly. “Yes! You’ve got it now! You know what you’ve done, don’t you? You know what you’ve done.” He made no sound nor sign, but lay with bright, averted eyes, and averted, bleeding face. “You ought to be _killed_, that’s what you ought,” said Annie, tensely. “You ought to be _killed_.” And there was a terrifying lust in her voice. Polly was ceasing to laugh, and giving long-drawn Oh-h-hs and sighs as she came to herself. “He’s got to choose,” she said vaguely. “Oh, yes, he has,” said Laura, with vindictive decision.