How could I want

"I remember now something you said when you broke the bottle of pilocarpin," he said slowly. "I did not notice it at the time; now it comes to me. 'I have saved your life,' you said. I get the meaning of that now. You would have killed me rather than not have forestalled me; but the blindness saved you that necessity. You know, I am a little glad to learn that you did not _want_ to kill me." "Want!" she cried. "How could I want?" Kingozi chuckled. "You told me enough times just what you thought of me." Her crest reared, but drooped again. "No women likes to be treated so. And if you had your eyes, so I would hate you again!" "I don't know why you want to prevent me from reaching M'tela, nor why you want to reach him first, nor why in its wisdom your government sent you at all. I'd like to know, just as a matter of curiosity. But it doesn't really matter, because it does not affect the essential situation in the least." "You are going to M'tela just the same?" she inquired anxiously. "Bless you, no. I have no desire to go blind. It's the beastliest affliction can come to an active man. And glaucoma is a tricky thing. I'd like to get to McCloud tomorrow. But still you are not going to get to M'tela before me." "No?" "I am sorry; but you will have to go with me." "You have the force," she acknowledged after a moment. Somewhat surprised at her lack of protest--or was it resignation to the inevitable?--Kingozi checked himself. After a moment he went on. "Somehow," he mused, "in spite of your amiable activities, I have a certain confidence in you. It would be much more comfortable for both of us if you would give me your word not to try to escape, or to go back, or to leave my camp, or cause your men to leave my camp, or anything like that." "Would you trust my word?" "If you would give it solemnly--yes."