Or, stay!  Had he, after all, been generous?  Had he but affected generosity that he might the more completely subjugate her?  He had said that she must convince him that freedom from her chain would mean happiness to her.  And how could she ever convince him of this?  How?  How?  Would he ever see himself as she saw him—­a monster of violence whose very presence appalled her?  The problem was hopeless, hopeless!  She knew that she could never make him understand.

Swiftly the time passed, and with every minute her resolution grew weaker, her agitation more uncontrollable.  She could not do it.  She could not face him with another challenge.  It would kill her to resist him again as she had resisted him on Jerry’s behalf.  And yet she must do something.  For, if she did not go to him, he would come to her.  The half-hour he had given her was nearly spent.  If she did not make up her mind soon it would be too late.  It might be that already he was repenting his brief generosity, if generosity it had been.  It might be that at any moment she would hear his tread upon the stairs.

She started up in a panic, fancying that she heard it already.  But no sound followed her wild alarm, and she knew that her quivering nerves had tricked her.  Shuddering from head to foot, she stood listening, debating with herself.

Her time was very short now; only three minutes to the half-hour—­only two—­only one!

With a gasp, she gathered together all the little strength she had left.  But she could not descend those gloomy stairs.  She dared not go to him.  She stood halting at the top.

Ah, now he was moving!  She heard his step in the room below, and she was conscious of an instant’s wild relief that the suspense was past.

Then panic rushed back upon her, blotting out all else.  She saw his shadow on the stairs, and she cried to him to stop.

“I am coming down to you!  Wait for me!  Wait!”

He stepped back, and she stumbled downwards, nearly falling in her haste.  At the last stair she tripped, recovering herself only by the arm he flung out to catch her.

“I was coming!” she gasped incoherently.  “I would have come before, but the stairs were dark—­so dark, and I was frightened!”

“There is nothing to frighten you,” he said gravely.

“I can’t help it!” she wailed like a child.  “Oh, Piet—­Piet, be kind to me—­just this once—­if you can!  I—­I’m terrified!”

He put his arm round her.

“Why?” he said.

She could not tell him.  But in a vague fashion his arm comforted her; and that also was beyond explanation.

“You are not angry?” she whispered.

“No,” he said.

“You will be,” she said, shivering, “when I have told you my decision.”

“What is your decision?” he asked.

She did not answer him; she could not.

He moved, and very gently set her free.  There was a chair by the table from which he had evidently just risen.  He turned to it and sat down, watching her under his hand.