He seized both her hands, and riveted his eyes on hers with a glance of such passionate eagerness that she turned red, and looked uneasily towards the door. “You have been away these six months,” she stammered. “Six, and twenty-three days besides, is the true reckoning.” He did not drop her hand. “I shall get a light!” she cried; for it was really getting dark, and she wanted to free her hands. “Give me a greeting, Yagna!” he begged, in a whisper, and tried to put his arm round her waist. She slipped away, and ran to the fire-place to kindle a light, fearing lest her mother should find her in the dark with Matthew. He, however, was too quick, caught her, squeezed her close, and set to kissing her with wild impetuosity. She struggled like a snared bird, but could not free herself from the ravenous creature that hugged her till her ribs cracked and showered upon her such mad kisses that she grew faint; a veil dimmed her eyes, and she could not breathe. “Matthew, good Matthew, please let me go!” “Yet awhile, Yagna, yet again ... for I am frantic!” And he kissed till the girl drooped and sank limp in his arms, weak as water. But at that moment he heard steps in the passage; so he let her go, lit a hand-lamp at the fire-place, and rolled a cigarette, looking the while at Yagna with eyes that sparkled with delight. Andrew came in, blew the fire on the hearth into a blaze, and pottered about the room; so they said but little, those two, whilst exchanging hot glances of hungry, starving desire all the time. A few minutes later, Dominikova came in. She must have been vexed at something or other, for she began by rating Simon soundly in the passage. Seeing Matthew, she darted a fierce look at him, paid no heed to his greeting, and went into the bedroom to change her dress. “Go away,” Yagna begged, “or mother will curse you when she comes.” But he only implored her to come out and meet him. Dominikova entered. “You ... you! Back again?” she asked, as if she had not seen him before. “Yes, back again, Mother,” he answered gently, trying to kiss her hand. “Am I a cur, that you call me mother?” she snarled, snatching her hand away angrily. “Why do you come? Once for all, I have said you are not wanted here.” “I come, not for you, but for Yagna,” he answered, with a defiant air: he was losing his temper. “You’re to drop Yagna for good, I say! Drop her! Folks shall not again defame her on your account!... Off, and out of my sight, you...!” “Why croak so loud? All the village will hear!” “Let them hear! Let them come! Let them know that you are sticking to Yagna as a burr sticks to a dog’s tail—that we need an ovenrake to drive you from us!” “Oh, that you were a man! How you would smart for this!” “Try then, hound that you are! Just try, you ruffian, you bully!” And with those words she grasped the poker.