lain in my arms until then, with upturned face and piteous,
frightened eyes--like a bird that feels itself within the toils of a
snake, yet whose horror is blent with a certain fascination. Now, as she
spoke, her will seemed to reassert itself, and she struggled to break
from me. But as her fierceness of hatred grew, so did my fierceness of
resolve gain strength, and I held her tightly.

"Why do you hate me?" I asked steadily. "Ask yourself, Roxalanne, and
tell me what answer your heart makes. Does it not answer that indeed you
do not hate me--that you love me?"

"Oh, God, to be so insulted!" she cried out. "Will you not release me,
miserable? Must I call for help? Oh, you shall suffer for this! As there
is a Heaven, you shall be punished!"

But in my passion I held her, despite entreaties, threats, and
struggles. I was brutal, if you will. Yet think of what was in my soul
at being so misjudged, at finding myself in this position, and deal
not over harshly with me. The courage to confess which I had lacked for
days, came to me then. I must tell her. Let the result be what it might,
it could not be worse than this, and this I could endure no longer.

"Listen, Roxalanne!"

"I will not listen! Enough of insults have I heard already. Let me go!"

"Nay, but you shall hear me. I am not Rene de Lesperon. Had these
Marsacs been less impetuous and foolish, had they waited to have seen me
this morning, they would have told you so."

She paused for a second in her struggles to regard me. Then, with a
sudden contemptuous laugh, she renewed her efforts more vigorously than
before.

"What fresh lies do you offer me? Release me, I will hear no more!"

"As Heaven is my witness, I have told you the truth. I know how wild
a sound it has, and that is partly why I did not tell you earlier.
But your disdain I cannot suffer. That you should deem me a liar in
professing to love you--"

Her struggles were grown so frantic that I was forced to relax my grip.
But this I did with a suddenness that threw her out of balance, and she
was in danger of falling backwards. To save herself, she caught at my
doublet, which was torn open under the strain.

We stood some few feet apart, and, white and palpitating in her anger,
she confronted me. Her eyes lashed me with their scorn, but under my
steady, unflinching gaze they fell at last. When next she raised them
there was a smile of quiet but unutterable contempt upon her lips.

"Will you swe