ve is free, and yet a very tyrant. Oh, Philip,
forget such vain thoughts. Do not waste your life hoping for what can
never be."

"It shall be," cries he, vehemently, suddenly, with an unexpected
movement catching her in his arms. "Molly, if I cannot buy your love,
let me at least buy yourself. Remember how you are now situated. You do
not yet know the horrors of poverty--real poverty; and I--at least I
have prospects. Herst will be mine beyond all doubt (who can be
preferred before me?), and that old man cannot live forever. Think of
your sister and all her children; I swear I will provide for all; not
one but shall be to me as my own, for your sake. You shall do what you
like with me. Body and soul I am yours for good or evil. Let it be for
good."

"How dare you speak to me like this?" says Molly, who has tried vainly
to escape from his detested embrace during the short time it has taken
him to pour forth his last words. "Let me go instantly. Do you hear me,
Philip?--release me."

Her blue eyes have turned almost black with a little fear and unlimited
anger, her lips are white but firm, her very indignation only making
her more fair.

"I will, when you have given me some ground for hope. Promise you will
consider my words."

"Not for a single instant. When a few moments ago I hinted how
abhorrent you are to me, I spoke truly; I only lied when I tried to
soften my words. I would rather ten thousand times be _dead_ than
your wife. Now I hope you understand. Your very touch makes me
shudder."

She ceases, more from want of breath than words, and a deep silence
falls between them. Even through the bare and melancholy trees the wind
has forgotten to shiver. Above, the clouds, rain-filled, scud
hurriedly. A storm is in the air. Upon Philip's face a deadlier storm
is gathering.

"Have you anything more to say?" he asks, an evil look coming into his
eyes. Not for a second has he relaxed his hold.

Molly's heart sinks a little lower. Oh! if Tedcastle would only come!
yet with a certain bravery she compels herself to return without
flinching the gaze of the dark passionate face bent above hers. She
knows every limb in her body is trembling, that a deadly sickness is
creeping over her, yet by a supreme effort she maintains her calmness.

"Nothing," she answers, quietly, with just a touch of scorn. "I should
have thought I had said enough to convince any _man_. Now will you
let me go home? You cannot want to keep me h