The arms about her tightened into crushing bands. The pressure
stopped her breath; her very bones seemed to give under their fierce
compression. "Do you hate me?" he muttered. "Yes!" she gasped. "Yes! I hate you!" "Ah!" He twisted his hand in her black hair, wrenching it roughly back. "Are you ready now for the consummation? To look upon the face of evil?" She made no reply. Her eyes, as glassy as those of a sleep-walker,
stared into his. "Are you ready?" "Yes," she said. He pressed his mouth to hers. The fierceness of the kiss bruised her
lips, the pull of his hand in her hair was a searing pain, the pressure
of his arm about her body was a suffocation. Yet--somehow--there was
again the dawning of that unholy pleasure--the same degraded delight
that had risen in her on that other occasion, in the room of the
red-checked table cloth. Through some hellish alchemy, the leaden pain
was transmuting itself into the garish gold of a horrible, abnormal
pleasure. She found her crushed lips attempting a feeble, painful
response. At her movement, she felt herself swung abruptly from her feet. With
his lips still crushing hers, he raised her in his arms; she felt
herself borne across the room. He paused; there was a sudden release,
and she crashed to the hard surface of the couch, whose rough covering
scratched the bare flesh of her back. Nicholas Devine bent over her;
she saw his hand stretch toward her single remaining garment. And
again, from somewhere in her harassed soul, a spark of resistance
flashed. "Nick!" she moaned. "Oh, Nick! Help me!" "Call him!" said the other, a sneer on his face. "Call him! He hears;
it adds to his torment!" She covered her eyes with her hands. She felt his hand slip coldly
between her skin and the elastic about her waist. "Nick!" she moaned again. "Nick! Oh, my God! Nick!" 27

Two in Hell


The cold hand against Pat was still; she felt it rigid and stiff on
her flesh. She lay passive with closed eyes; having voiced her final
appeal, she was through. The words torn from her misery represented
the final iota of spirit remaining to her; and her bruised body and
battered mind had nothing further to give. The hand quivered and withdrew. For a moment more she lay motionless
with her arms clutched about her, then she opened her eyes, gazing
dully, hopelessly at the demon standing over her. He was watching her
with a curious abstracted frown; as she stirred, the scowl intensified,
and he drew back a step. His face contorted suddenly in a spasm of some unguessable emotion. His fists clenched; a low unintelligible mutter broke from his lips. "Strange!" she heard him say, and after a moment, "I'm still master
here!" He _was_ master; in a moment the emotion vanished, and he was again
standing over her, his face the same impassive demoniac mask. She
watched him in a dull stupor of despair that was too deep for even a
whimper of pain as he wrenched at the elastic about her waist, and it
cut into her flesh and parted. He tore the garment away, and the red
eyes bored down with a wild elation in their depths. "Mine!" the being muttered, a new hoarseness in his voice. "Are you
mine?" Pat made no answer; his voice croaked in more insistent tones. "Are you
mine?" She could not reply. She felt his fingers bite into the flesh of her
shoulder. She was shaken roughly, violently, and the question came
again, fiercely. The eyes flamed in command, and she felt through
her languor and weakness, the stirring of that strange and unholy
fascination that he held over her. "Answer!" he croaked. "Are you mine?" The torture of his searing grip on her shoulder wrung an answer from
her. "Yes," she murmured faintly. "Yours." She closed her eyes again in helpless resignation. She felt the
hand withdrawn, and she lay passive, waiting, on the verge of
unconsciousness, numb, spirit-broken, and beaten. Nothing happened. After a long interval she opened her eyes, and saw
the other standing again with clenched fists and contorted countenance. His features were writhing in the intensity of his struggle; a strange
low snarl came from his lips. He backed away from her, step by step; he
leaned against the book-shelves, and beads of perspiration formed on
his scowling face. He was no longer master! She saw the change; imperceptibly the evil
vanished from his features, and suddenly they were no longer his,
but the weary, horror-stricken visage of her Nick! The red eyes were
no longer Satanic, but only the blood-shot, troubled, gentle eyes of
her sweetheart, and the lips had lost their grimness, and gasped and
quivered and trembled. He reeled against the wall, staggered to the
chair at the table, and sank weakly into it. Pat was far too exhausted, far too dazed, to feel anything but the
faintest sensation of relief. She realized only dimly that tears were
welling from her eyes, and that sharp sobs were shaking her. She was
for the moment unable to stir, and it was not long until the being at
the table turned stricken eyes on her that she moved. Then she drew
her knees up before her, as if to hide her body behind their slim,
chiffon-clad grace. Nick rose from the table, approaching her with weary, hesitant tread. He seized a cover of some sort that was folded over the foot of the
couch, shook it out and cast it over her. She clutched it about her
body, sat erect and leaned back against the wall in utter exhaustion. Many minutes passed with no word from either of the occupants of the
unholy chamber. It was Nick who broke the long silence. "Pat," he murmured in low tones. "Pat--Dear. Are you--all right?" She stared at him dazedly without answer. "Honey!" he said. "Honey! Tell me you're all right!" "All right?" she repeated uncomprehendingly. "Yes. I guess I'm all
right." "Then go, Pat! Get away from here before he--before anything happens! Put your clothes on and hurry away!" "I can't!" she said, faintly. "I--can't!" "You must, Honey!" "I'm just--not able to. I will soon, Nick--honest. When I--when I get
my breath back." "Pat!" There was anguish in the cry. "Oh, God--Pat! We mustn't ever be
together again--not ever!" "No," she said. A bit of sanity was returning to her; comprehension of
her position sent a shudder through her. "No, we mustn't." "I couldn't bear another night like this--watching! I'd go mad!" "Oh!" she choked, tears starting. "If you hadn't come back, Nick!" "I conquered him," he said. "I don't think I could do it again. It was
your call that gave me the strength, Pat." He shook his head as if
bewildered. "He thought it was being in love with you that weakened me,
but in the end it was that which gave me the strength to subdue him." "I'm scared!" said the girl suddenly. "Oh, Nick! I'm frightened!" "You'd better go. You'd better dress and leave at once, Honey. Here." He gathered her clothes from the floor, depositing them beside her on
the couch. "There are pins in the tray on the table, Pat. Fix yourself
up as well as you can, dear--and hurry out of here!"