Milly began to feel unaccountably
worried and suggested turning back. Instead the man cut the horse with
his whip so that he shot forward down the narrow road. The buggy rocked
and swayed, while Milly clung to the side. Snowden looked at her and
smiled triumphantly. His face came nearer hers. Milly thought it
handsome, but it was unpleasantly flushed, and Milly drew away.
Suddenly she found herself in the grasp of her companion's free arm. He
was whispering things into her ear.
"You make me mad--I--"
"Don't, Mr. Snowden,--please, please don't!" Milly cried, struggling.
The horse stopped altogether and looked around at them.
"Let me go!" she cried. But now abandoning the lines he held her in both
his arms, his hot breath was close to her face, his lips seeking hers.
Then she bit him,--bit him so hard with her firm teeth that he drew away
with a cry, loosening his grip. She wriggled out of his embrace and
scrambled to the ground before he knew what she was doing and began to
run down the road. Snowden gathered up the lines and followed after her,
calling,--"Milly, Milly--Miss Ridge," in a penitent, frightened voice.
For some time she paid no attention until he shouted,--"You'll never get
anywhere that way!" The buggy was abreast of her now. "Do get in! I
won't--touch you."
She turned upon him with all the fire of her youth.
"You--a respectable man--with a wife--and my father's friend--you!"
"Yes, I know," he said, like a whipped dog.
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