“Men do not mind whom they love; even in the convent we knew that.”

“You seem to have known a good deal in that convent; I am not astonished that you left it.”

“What do you mean?” She settled her shawl on her shoulders.

“Merely this; you are in a young man’s room alone, and I love you.”

“Love!  You profane the word; loose me, I am going.”

“No, you are not going, you must remain.”  There was an occasional nature in him, that of the vicious dog, and now it snarled.  “If you did not love me, you should not have come here,” he said interposing, getting between her and the door.

Then she entreated him to let her go.  He laughed at her; then suddenly her face flamed with a passion he was unprepared for, and her eyes danced with strange lights.  Few words were spoken, only a few ejaculatory phrases such as “How dare you?” “Let me go!” she said, as she strove to wrench her arms from his grasp.  She caught up one of the glasses; but before she could throw it Mike seized her hand; he could not take it from her, and unconscious of danger (for if the glass broke both would be cut to the bone), she clenched it with a force that seemed impossible in one so frail.  Her rage was like wildfire.  Mike grew afraid, and preferring that the glass should be thrown than it should break in his hand, he loosed his fingers.  It smashed against the opposite wall.  He hoped that Frank had not heard; that he had left the chambers.  He seized the second glass.  When she raised her arm, Mike saw and heard the shattered window falling into the court below.  He anticipated the porter’s steps on the staircase and his knock at the door, and it was with an intense relief and triumph that he saw the bottle strike the curtain and fall harmless.  He would win yet.  Lily screamed piercingly.

“No one will hear,” he said, laughing hoarsely.

She escaped him and she screamed three times.  And now quite like a mad woman, she snatched a light chair and rushed to the window.  Her frail frame shook, her thin face was swollen, and she seemed to have lost control over her eyes.  If she should die!  If she should go mad!  Now really terrified, Mike prayed for forgiveness.  She did not answer; she stood clenching her hands, choking.

“Sit down,” he said, “drink something.  You need not be afraid of me now—­do as you like, I am your servant.  I will ask only one thing of you—­forgiveness.  If you only knew!”

“Don’t speak to me!” she gasped, “don’t!”

“Forgive me, I beseech you; I love you better than all the world.”

“Don’t touch me!  How dare you?  Oh! how dare you?”

Mike watched her quivering.  He saw she was sublime in her rage, and torn with desire and regret he continued his pleadings.  It was some time before she spoke.

“And it was for this,” she said, “I left my convent, and it was of him I used to dream!  Oh! how bitter is my awakening!”