She saw his face harden. “As it is,” he said, “you have tried my patience to the utmost limit, till I have come to the pitch when I will stand no more trifling. Do you understand? To-night I am your master. To-night—for the last time—I ask you, will you marry me? Think well before you decide! To-morrow—possibly—you may be not only willing, but anxious, but,” he shrugged his shoulders again—“I may have other plans by that time.”
“Ah!” she said, and put a hand to her head.
The floor had begun to sway under her feet. His face, with its cruel, set smile, had receded into distance. She was cold from head to foot, with an icy coldness, and she thought her heart had ceased to beat. She felt herself totter.
And then there came the grasp of his hand, holding her back as it seemed on the very edge of the abyss. And instinctively she clung to the support he offered, with gasping incoherent entreaty.
“Oh, hold me up! Save me! Don’t let me fall!”
“Sit down!” he said. “Here is a chair! Now drink! It’s all right. You’ll be better in a minute.”
She felt the rim of a glass against her chattering teeth, and she drank with her head against his arm.
The wine was like fire in her veins; the awful numbness passed.
“Better?” said Rotherby. “Come, this is rather a terrible fuss to make, isn’t it? Drink a little more!”
She drank again, and then, as he released her, bent forward over the table, hiding her face. A great shiver went through her and passed. She sat bowed and silent.
After a few seconds he spoke again, his tone quite friendly, but with that hint of mastery which made her realize how completely she was at his mercy.
“Sit up and have some supper! You will feel much better for it. Afterwards we will sit by the fire and talk.”
She raised herself slowly, propping her chin on her hands. She spoke, haltingly, with difficulty, almost as if it were in a foreign language.
“If I give my promise—to—to—to—marry—you, will you—let me—go?”
“Yes, to-night.” She did not look at him; she was staring before her at a picture on the opposite wall—a picture of heather-clad moors and running streams—but with eyes that saw not.
There was a brief pause, then very suddenly the man behind her moved. He bent and took her head between his hands, compelling her to face him.