She knew he intended it as such, and it bewildered her.
'And you,' she cried in retort, 'why do you always take your soul in your mouth, so frightfully full?'
'So that I can spit it out the more readily,' he said, pleased by his own retort.
Gerald Crich, his face narrowing to an intent gleam, followed up the hill with quick strides, straight after Gudrun.
The cattle stood with their noses together on the brow of a slope, watching the scene below, the men in white hovering about the white forms of the women, watching above all Gudrun, who was advancing slowly towards them.
She stood a moment, glancing back at Gerald, and then at the cattle.
Then in a sudden motion, she lifted her arms and rushed sheer upon the long-horned bullocks, in shuddering irregular runs, pausing for a second and looking at them, then lifting her hands and running forward with a flash, till they ceased pawing the ground, and gave way, snorting with terror, lifting their heads from the ground and flinging themselves away, galloping off into the evening, becoming tiny in the distance, and still not stopping.
Gudrun remained staring after them, with a mask-like defiant face.
'Why do you want to drive them mad?' asked Gerald, coming up with her.
She took no notice of him, only averted her face from him.
'It's not safe, you know,' he persisted. 'They're nasty, when they do turn.'
'Turn where?
Turn away?' she mocked loudly.
'No,' he said, 'turn against you.'
'Turn against ME?' she mocked.
He could make nothing of this.
'Anyway, they gored one of the farmer's cows to death, the other day,' he said.
'What do I care?' she said.
'I cared though,' he replied, 'seeing that they're my cattle.'
'How are they yours!
You haven't swallowed them.
Give me one of them now,' she said, holding out her hand.
'You know where they are,' he said, pointing over the hill. 'You can have one if you'd like it sent to you later on.'
She looked at him inscrutably.
'You think I'm afraid of you and your cattle, don't you?' she asked.
His eyes narrowed dangerously.
There was a faint domineering smile on his face.
'Why should I think that?' he said.
She was watching him all the time with her dark, dilated, inchoate eyes.
She leaned forward and swung round her arm, catching him a light blow on the face with the back of her hand.
'That's why,' she said, mocking.
And she felt in her soul an unconquerable desire for deep violence against him.
She shut off the fear and dismay that filled her conscious mind.
She wanted to do as she did, she was not going to be afraid.
He recoiled from the slight blow on his face.
He became deadly pale, and a dangerous flame darkened his eyes.
For some seconds he could not speak, his lungs were so suffused with blood, his heart stretched almost to bursting with a great gush of ungovernable emotion.
It was as if some reservoir of black emotion had burst within him, and swamped him.
'You have struck the first blow,' he said at last, forcing the words from his lungs, in a voice so soft and low, it sounded like a dream within her, not spoken in the outer air.
'And I shall strike the last,' she retorted involuntarily, with confident assurance.
He was silent, he did not contradict her.
She stood negligently, staring away from him, into the distance.
On the edge of her consciousness the question was asking itself, automatically:
'Why ARE you behaving in this IMPOSSIBLE and ridiculous fashion.'
But she was sullen, she half shoved the question out of herself.
She could not get it clean away, so she felt self-conscious.
Gerald, very pale, was watching her closely.
His eyes were lit up with intent lights, absorbed and gleaming.
She turned suddenly on him.
'It's you who make me behave like this, you know,' she said, almost suggestive.