ut her hands--a silencing gesture.

"Enough!" she exclaimed. "I do not know what you are going to say. I
do not wish to hear it."

"You must!" he declared. "You shall hear me!"

She turned her back upon him, but he was between her and the door. He
turned the key in the lock, and faced her--a new Domiloff, wolf-like,
with evil things in his white face and black eyes.

"You shall promise to be my wife," he said, "or----"

"Or what?"

She did not quail. His eyes fell before hers. But the key slipped into
his pocket.

"Or you do not leave this house," he answered. "I am master here. The
whole quarter is Russian. Be reasonable, Countess. The alliance is
worthy of your consideration."

She leaned suddenly forward, and struck him across the cheek.

"You cur," she cried. "I would as soon marry one of my servants."

She beat upon the door and called out. Domiloff drew out his
handkerchief and held it to his cheek. He made no effort to silence
her. There was a dull red mark across his face. If she could have seen
his expression she would have been frightened.

There came no answer to her calling. She rushed across to the window.
There were men on the place below, but they only answered her frantic
gestures with dull indifference--at most with a shrug of the shoulders
and a smile. They were Russian Jews. It was as Domiloff had said. They
were his creatures. It was the one evil spot in Theos. Domiloff stood
with his back to her, still with his handkerchief to his face.

She turned upon him fiercely.

"If you do not let me out," she cried, "Nicholas shall shoot you like
a dog."

"It may be," he answered, coolly, "that I shall shoot Nicholas. At
least there will be something to be wiped out between us. I shall not
fear his vengeance."

"What do you mean?" she asked, suddenly cold with the first sensations
of fear. The man's quietness was ominous, and she could see his face
now. He put his handkerchief away and came over to her, catching her
wrists with a sudden catlike movement.

"It is your own fault," he said. "You will remember that blow to your
dying day."

* * * * *

They stood side by side at the window of one of the great reception
rooms of the palace, the King and Brand. A driving storm of rain was
beating against the glass, and the thunder rattled amongst the distant
hills from peak to peak. Ughtred was looking more pale and harassed
than when he had ridden, sword in han