and uncannily as he met her wet, limpid glance.
Yes, she was a bit afraid of him too, with his inhuman black eyes.
“You don’t want me to go, do you?” she pleaded.
A slow, almost foolish smile came over his face, and his body was slightly convulsed. Then came his soft-tongued Indian speech, as if all his mouth were soft, saying in Spanish, but with the “r” sound almost lost:
“Yo! Yo!”—his eyebrows lifted with queer mock surprise, and a little convulsion went through his body again. “Te quiero mucho! Mucho te quiero! Mucho! Mucho! I like you very much! Very much!”
It sounded so soft, so soft-tongued, of the soft, wet, hot blood, that she shivered a little.
“You won’t let me go!” she said to him.