"If I must go, you shall go with me!" She fumbled in her belt, caught the handle of a knife there, and drew it.

She lifted it against her heart; but even then there was an uncertainty in her movement, as if her mind were divided against itself, or had failed fully to retain the thread of its purpose.

But Freeman, who had passed rapidly from one degree of bewilderment to another, was actually relieved to see, at last, something that he could understand.
Miriam--for some reason best known to herself--was about to do herself a mischief.

He leaped forward, caught her in his arms, and snatched the knife from her grasp.
For a few moments she struggled like a young tiger.

And it was marvellous and appalling to hear two voices come from her, in alternation, or confusedly mingled.