"My beloved! . . . _My soul_!"
His voice was vehement with the love and passion at length unleashed
from bondage; his kisses hurt her. There was something torrential,
overwhelming, in his imperious wooing. He held her with the fierce,
possessive grip of primitive man claiming the chosen woman as his mate.
She struggled faintly against him.
"Ah! Max--Max . . . . Let me go. You're frightening me."
She heard him draw his breath hard, and then slowly, reluctantly, as
though by a sheer effort of will, he set her down. He was white to the
lips, and his eyes glowed like blue flame in their pallid setting.
"Frighten you!" he repeated hoarsely. "You don't know what love
means--you English."
Diana stared at him.
"'You English!' What--what are you saying? Max, aren't you English
after all?"
He threw back his head with a laugh.
"Oh, yes, I'm English. But I'm something else as well. . . . There's
warmer blood in my veins, and I can't love like an Englishman. Oh,
Diana, heart's beloved, let me teach you what love is!"
Impetuously he caught her in his arms again, and once more she felt the
storm of his passion sweep over her as he rained fierce kisses on eyes
and throat and lips. For a space it seemed as if the whole world were
blotted out and there were only they two alone together--shaken to the
very foundations of their being by the tremendous force of the
whirlwind of love which had engulfed them.
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