Aaron Trow had known much in his rough life, but never had he
combated with harder antagonist than her whom he now held beneath
his breast.

"By--I will put an end to you," he exclaimed, in his wrath, as he
struck her violently across the face with his elbow. His hand was
occupied, and he could not use it for a blow, but, nevertheless, the
violence was so great that the blood gushed from her nostrils, while
the back of her head was driven with violence against the floor.
But she did not lose her hold of him. Her hand was still twined
closely through his thick hair, and in every move he made she clung
to him with all her might. "Leave go my hair," he shouted at her,
but she still kept her hold, though he again dashed her head against
the floor.

There was still light in the room, for when he first grasped her
with both his hands, he had put the lamp down on a small table. Now
they were rolling on the floor together, and twice he had essayed to
kneel on her that he might thus crush the breath from her body, and
deprive her altogether of her strength; but she had been too active
for him, moving herself along the ground, though in doing so she
dragged him with her. But by degrees he got one hand at liberty,
and with that he pulled a clasp knife out of his pocket and opened
it. "I will cut your head off if you do not let go my hair," he
said. But still she held fast by him. He then stabbed at her arm,
using his left hand and making short, ineffectual blows. Her dress
partly saved her, and partly also the continual movement of all her
limbs; but, nevertheless, the knife wounded her. It wounded her in
several places about the arm, covering them both with blood;--but
still she hung on. So close was her grasp in her agony, that, as