instinct to conquer was what she had
taught him, and that the turgid stream of his blood was finding new
strength and unreason, a strange new impetus in every struggle. She
saw her danger and was powerless to prevent it. She looked over her
shoulder helplessly in the direction in which Chan Lloyd had vanished
and saw no help from there. Jerry's great strength had never seemed so
terrible as now. He caught her by the shoulders and held her, shook
her, I think, a little, as one would shake a child, while she still
struggled in his grasp. In a moment his grasp loosened a little, then
tightened again, for the contact of his fingers with her warm skin was
awaking the demon in him, the dormant devil she had put there.

"Oh, you're hurting me so, Jerry--so terribly."

But he did not even hear her voice. His eyes were speaking to hers,
holding them with a deathly fascination. If fear was her passion she
was drinking it now to the full--fear and the sense of the ruthless
power and dominion in this madman of her own creation. Her hands
clasped his shoulders.

"Jerry!" she screamed. "Don't look at me like that. Your eyes burn
me."

"Into your soul--I will burn it--blot it out."

"Jerry, forgive me," she sobbed. "I love you."

"You lie."

"I love you. Forgive me!"

"No. You lie!"

Her arms went around his neck. And he crushed her to him, all the
length of them in contact. She struggled faintly but her lips sought
his in a despairing hope of pity. She found the lips, but no pity. The
breath was almost gone from her body. She struggled, fighting hard,
breathing his name in little panting sobs. She too was mad now, as
much of an animal as Jerry, her blood coursing furiously. Her terror
of herself must have been greater even than her terror of him, for she
was quivering--shaken by the terrible gusts of his passion.

Suddenly she felt herself released, thrust from him. His fingers
bruised the tender flesh of her shoulders but his eyes bruised her
more.

"Jerry!"

His hands had caught the two sides of the flimsy shirt-waist at the
breast and torn it aside, off her shoulders, off her arms.

"Have pity, Jerry," she whimpered.

[Illustration: "'Have pity, Jerry,' she whimpered."]

"Pity, yes," he laughed wildly. "Kiss me. You want to be kissed. I'll
kill you with kissing. Death like this--such a death--!"

She struggled more furiously, struck, kissed and struck again. But
Jerry's madness triumphed--her own.

*