"Shame!" I cried. "Shame to you, Northmour!"
And, giddy though I still was, I struck him repeatedly upon the head and
shoulders.
He relinquished his grasp, and faced me in the broken moonlight.
"I had you under, and I let you go," said he; "and now you strike me!
Coward!"
"You are the coward," I retorted. "Did she wish your kisses while she was
still sensible of what you wanted? Not she! And now she may be dying; and
you waste this precious time, and abuse her helplessness. Stand aside, and
let me help her."
He confronted me for a moment, white and menacing; then suddenly he
stepped aside.
"Help her then," said he.
I threw myself on my knees beside her, and loosened, as well as I was
able, her dress and corset; but while I was thus engaged, a grasp
descended on my shoulder.
"Keep your hands off her," said Northmour, fiercely. "Do you think I have
no blood in my veins?"
"Northmour," I cried, "if you will neither help her yourself, nor let me
do so, do you know that I shall have to kill you?"
"That is better!" he cried. "Let her die also, where's the harm? Step
aside from that girl! and stand up to fight."
"You will observe," said I, half rising, "that I have not kissed her yet."
"I dare you to," he cried.
I do not know what possessed me; it was one of the things I am most
ashamed of in my life, though, as my wife used to say, I knew that my
kisses would be always welcome were she dead or living; down I fell again
upon my knees, parted the hair from her forehead, and, with the dearest
respect, laid my lips for a moment on that cold brow.
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