I would _make_ her speak. I shook her, I chid her, I pinched her fingers when she tried to put me off with gibes and jests in her queer provoking way, and at last out it came. The voice, I say, was enough; hardly raised above a whisper, and yet such a soft vehemence in its tones. 
I was determined to make her speak, and at last out it came, in a whisper, and yet with such soft vehemence. 