I am capable of putting you there.
If you mean to behave like a child, I shall treat you as one. Now for the
last time, get into bed."
"Sir Eustace!" pleaded Biddy in a hoarse whisper. "Don't force her, Sir
Eustace! Don't now! Don't!"
He paid no attention to her. His eyes were fixed upon his sister's
death-white face, and her eyes, strained and glassy were upturned to his.
He said no more. Isabel's breath came in short sobbing gasps. She
resisted him no longer. Under the steady pressure of his hands, her body
yielded. She seemed to wilt under the compulsion of his look. Slowly,
tremblingly, she crumpled in his hold, sinking downwards upon the bed.
He bent over her, laying her back, taking the bedclothes from Biddy's
shaking hands and drawing them over her.
Then over his shoulder briefly he addressed the old woman. "Turn out the
light, and go!"
Biddy stood and gibbered. There was that in her mistress's numb
acquiescence that terrified her. "Sure, you'll kill her, Sir Eustace!"
she gasped.
He made a compelling gesture. "You had better do as I say. If I want your
help--or advice--I'll let you know. Do as I say! Do you hear me, Biddy?"
His voice fell suddenly and ominously to a note so deep that Biddy drew
back still further affrighted and began to whimper.
Sir Eustace turned back to his sister, lying motionless on the pillow.
"Tell her to go, Isabel! I am going to stay with you myself.
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