She forced herself to speak though her tongue felt stiff and dry.  “I can’t let you in now,” she said.  “I will hear what you have to say in the morning.”

He made no reply.  There was an instant of dead silence.  Then there came a sudden, hideous shock against the panel of the door.  The socket of the bolt gave with the strain, but did not wholly yield.  Avery shrank back trembling against the shadowy four-poster.  She felt as if a raging animal were trying to force an entrance.

Again came that awful shock.  The wood splintered and rent, socket and bolt were torn free; the door burst inwards.

There came a brief, fiendish laugh, and Piers broke in upon her.

He recovered himself with a sharp effort, and stood breathing heavily, looking at her.  The moonlight was full upon him, showing him deadly pale, and in his eyes there shone the red glare of hell.

“Did you really think—­a locked door—­would keep me out?” he said, speaking with an odd jerkiness, with lips that twitched.

She drew herself together with an instinctive effort at self-control.  “I thought you would respect my wish,” she said, her voice very low.

“Did you?” said Piers.  “Then why did you lock the door?”

He swung it closed behind him and came to her.

“Listen to me, Avery!” he said.  “You are not your own any longer—­to give or to take away.  You are mine.”

She faced him with all the strength she could muster, but she could not meet those awful eyes that mocked her, that devoured her.

“Piers,” she said, almost under her breath, “remember,—­what happens to-night we shall neither of us ever forget.  Don’t make me hate you!”

“Haven’t you begun to hate me then?” he demanded.  “Would you have locked that door against me if you hadn’t?”

She heard the rising passion in his voice, and her heart fainted within her.  Yet still desperately she strove for strength.

“I don’t want to do anything violent or unconsidered.  I must have time to think.  Piers, you have me at your mercy.  Be merciful!”

He made a sharp movement.  “Are you going to be merciful to me?” he said.

She hesitated.  There was something brutal in the question, yet it pierced her.  She knew that he had divined all that had been passing within her during that evening of misery.  She did not answer him, for she could not.

“Listen!” he said again.  “What has happened has happened by sheer ill-luck.  The past is nothing to you.  You have said so yourself.  The future shall not be sacrificed to it.  If you will give me your solemn promise to put this thing behind you, to behave as if it had never been, I will respect your wishes, I will do my utmost to help you to forget.  But if you refuse—­” He stopped.

“If I refuse—­” she repeated faintly.

He made again that curious gesture that was almost one of helplessness.  “Don’t ask for mercy!” he said.