“I’ll prove to you how true they are, then; in one thing, at least, you shall be convinced of my veracity; and that is, that I am now in earnest, and mean to remain in earnest until my wishes are accomplished, and you, the victim of my pleasure, become a suppliant for mercy and restoration to an honorable position in society.”

“Never!”

“We shall see; I have been talking,—­from this time on, I act!”

Saying this he drew a pistol from his pocket, and holding it before her, went on: 

“You see I came prepared this time!  I was fully resolved to bring matters to an issue at any rate, and more especially if you persisted in your insulting course of address.  You have done so; the cup of your transgressions is full, and the time of your probation expired.  Now comes the judgment!”

He had expected to see her turn pale and tremble, and, perhaps, become a suppliant for more time to consider the matter; but with the exception of a little closer compression of the lips, and, if possible, a little more determined expression, he saw no change pass over her countenance.  If terror she had, it was kept out of sight.  She made no reply, and he proceeded: 

“You think because your dagger served you once it will do so again; but it will not.  I could execute my plans immediately and at once have you helplessly in my power; but I prefer to give you one more and the last opportunity of deciding for yourself.  Know, then, that as soon as I find this offer rejected, I will send the contents of this pistol through your right arm, and if that is not enough I have another in my pocket here, which shall pay the same respects to your left arm.  You will then be at my mercy as completely as though you were an infant.  I leave your own fancy to picture what will follow, understanding my intentions as you do.  With this certain doom before you, will you, Eveline Mandeville, consent to be my wife, now or at some future day?”

“I WILL NOT!”

The reply was clear, bold, decided, without a tremor of voice or the quivering of a muscle.  The fiendish wretch was awed by her courage, but having, as he said, resolved to bring matters to a crisis, he went on: 

“You have chosen your fate, be the consequences upon your own head!” He raised the pistol.

“Will you throw away that dagger and permit me peaceably to approach you?”

“No!”

“I will ask you three times, and with your third refusal I shall fire; so beware!  Will you throw away the dagger?”

“No!”

“This is the third and last time I shall ask the question,” and he repeated it slowly:  “Will you throw away t-h-e d-a-g-g-e-r?” and he brought the weapon to his eye.

“NO!”

There was a pause of a second, and then a flash of fire, a cloud of smoke, and the report of a pistol told that his threat was executed.  The brutal monster waited a moment for the smoke to clear away from his vision, not liking to venture upon that ominous looking dagger until assured of a bloodless victory.  Poor, despicable coward!