"Are you mad?" he said.

The small dark head was shaken vehemently, with gestures curiously
suggestive of an imprisoned insect. It was as if wild wings fluttered
against captivity.

And then all in a moment the struggling ceased, and in a low, eager
voice the captive began to plead.

"Please, please let me go! You don't know--you don't understand. I
came--because--because--you called. But I was wrong--I was wrong to
come. You couldn't keep me--you wouldn't keep me--against my will!"

"Do you want to die, then?" the man demanded. "Are you tired of life?"

His eyes still shone piercingly down, but they read but little, for the
dancer's were firmly closed against them, even while the dark cropped
head nodded a strangely vigorous affirmative.

"Yes, that is it! I am so tired--so tired of life! Don't keep me! Let
me go--while I have the strength!" The little, white, sharp-featured
face, with its tight-shut eyes and childish, quivering mouth, was
painfully pathetic. "Death can't be more dreadful than life," the low
voice urged. "If I don't go back--I shall be so sorry afterwards. Why
should one live--to suffer?"

It was piteously spoken, so piteously that for a moment the man seemed
moved to compassion. His hold relaxed; but when the little form between
his hands took swift advantage and strained afresh for freedom he
instantly tightened his grip.