was
lashing about her would lift and carry her on their outsweep.

Then suddenly she gave a violent start, and from her lips explosively
broke the one word, "Jack!"

He knew that she was under a strained tension of emotion, and though
the way she had flashed out that word was a marked contrast with her
past attempts to seem controlled, he construed it as an evidence of
final surrender to her feelings. She was already very pale and so she
turned no paler, but in that moment something had happened to
Alexander. Some thought or instinct or fact had brought her up
short--transformed her out of weakness into strength, and when she
spoke again it was with the self-containment of one who has been near
the cliff's edge but who has definitely drawn back.

"I hed hit in head ter ask ye a question," she announced, slowly, "but
I've done decided not ter do hit. This thread hain't suited ter ther
job. I'll git me another spool."

She rose from her chair, and dismayed at the astonishing swiftness of
her changed mood, Halloway took an impulsive step toward her. His arms
were still receptively outstretched, but suddenly he felt that attitude
to have become absurd. An altered light shone in her eyes now, and it
was unpleasantly suggestive of contempt. She turned, absent-mindedly
carrying the coat, and went into the other room.

What had happened, wondered the man. Something portentous had been
born and matured in a breathing space--but what it was he could not
guess. He knew only that victory had been between his open fingers and
had slipped away. In this new and hardened mood of Alexander's, he
might as well talk passionate love to the Sphinx.

But that was Alexander, he reflected. The tempestuous change from sun
to storm was the capricious climate of her nature. She had been close
to surrender and had wrested her independence out of his closing grasp
by pure will-power. The reaction, he inferred, had been
instantaneous--bringing the old resentment against being forced. Again
he had lost--but also again he would win.

Alexander was not gone long and she returned with a restored calm. The
fingers that stitched industriously at his torn coat, were as steady as
before his coming.

"I don't aim ter be fo'ced, Jack," she quietly announced. "Ye boasts
thet ye kin mek me come into yore arms of my own free will. If ye
kin--all right--but hit won't be afore ye fares back from yore journey.
Hit won't be ternight."