“Would you come back to me?”

“I——­”

The lie choked her.  And the passion of anger which had flared in her that afternoon sprang up in flame again; the candlelight showed the hot blood in her cheeks.  “I shall not come to you if you keep me here!” she gave back fearlessly.

“But here I can come to you.  And the preliminaries are always stupid—­I have no desire to reenact them.  I am well content with where we have arrived.  Be content, also.”

She stared back at his smiling face.  And all she thought was, “Shall I defy him now, or try to hold him off a little longer?” She had ceased to feel afraid; her blood was on fire; it was battle now between them; perhaps a battle of the wits a little longer, then——­

“In America men do not make love by force,” she flung at him.  “You are mad, Captain Kerissen!  You will be sorry if you go on like this.  If you wish to marry me you must give me the freedom of choice.  You must give me time.  I must have a minister of my own faith.  Do you think I will submit to this?  You make me hate you!”

“Hate is often love with a mask,” he laughed, his eyes fixed on the spirited, flushed face, the flashing eyes, the defiant mouth.  “And do not quote your America to me.  You are done with America.”

“You say that?  You forget who I am!  My brother—­I tell you my brother will——­”

“Do I not know the risks?” His eyes narrowed.  “But your brother will ask in vain.  He will not see you—­until we reappear as husband and wife.  I will take you to the Continent, then I will give you everything a woman wants, luxury and jewels—­the pearls of my ancestors I will hang on you.  These have no woman of mine worn.  You shall be my adored, my dearest——­ Oh, you must not turn from me,” he pleaded, his voice sinking softer and softer as he stole closer to her.  “You know that I am mad for you.  You have bewitched me, little Rose, you have made me strong and weak in a breath.  I am clay in your hands.  Be sweet, be kind, be wife to me——­” His hot hand gripped her arm.  He bent over her, and she sprang back, her hands flung out before her.

“Oh, wait!” she cried beseechingly.  “Wait—­please wait.”

“Wait?  I have waited too long!” His voice was a snarl now.  The mask of indolent mockery was gone; his face was stamped with cruelty and greed. “Nom d’un nom, I am through with this waiting!”

She sprang back before his approach, then whirled about to face him, trying to beat him back with words, with reason, with appeal.  Insanely he laughed and clutched at her as she flew past his outstretched arms; in the corner he pinioned her against the wall and gripped her to him.

Terror gave her the strength of two—­and his hand was bandaged.  Desperately she attacked it, and as his laughter changed to curses, she wrenched free once more and flew across the room.  With both hands she seized the candles and flung them into the pillowed divan; holding the last two to the draperies.  Like magic the little flames zigzagged up the cotton hangings.