pierced her with their appalling brightness. "No, not quite like
that," he said, with awful grimness. "There is a difference. An engaged
woman can cut the cable and be free without assistance. A married woman
needs a lover to help her!"

She shrank afresh from the scorching cynicism of his words. "Dick!" she
said. "Have I asked for--freedom?"

"You had better not ask!" he flashed back. "You have gone too far
already. I tell you, Juliet, when you gave yourself to me it was
irrevocable. There's no going back now. You have got to put up with
me--whatever the cost."

"Ah!" she whispered.

"Listen!" he said. "This thing is going to make no difference between
us--no difference whatever. You cared for me enough to marry me, and I am
the same man now that I was then. The man you have conjured up in your
own mind as the writer of those books is nothing to me--or to you now. I
am the man who wrote them--and you belong to me. And if you leave
me--well, I shall follow you--and bring you back."

His lips closed implacably upon the words; he held her as though
challenging her to free herself. But Juliet neither moved nor spoke. She
stood absolutely passive in his hold, waiting in utter silence.

He waited also, trying to read her face in the dimness, but seeing only a
pale still mask.

At last: "You understand me?" he said.

She bent her head. "Yes--I understand."

He stood for a moment longer, then abruptly his hold tightened upon her.
She lifted her face then sharply, resisting him almost instinctively, and
in that instant his passion burst its bonds. He crushed her to him with
sudden mastery, and, so compelling, he kissed her hotly, possessively,
dominatingly, holding her lips with his own, till she strained against
him no longer, but hung, burning and quivering, at his mercy.

Then at length very slowly he put her down into the chair from which she
had risen at his entrance, and released her. She leaned upon the table,
trembling, her hands covering her face. And he stood behind her,
breathing heavily, saying no word.

So for a space they remained in darkness and silence, till the
brisk opening of the kitchen-door brought them back to the small
things of life.

Dick moved. "Go upstairs!" he said, under his breath.

She stirred and rose unsteadily. He put out a hand to help her. She did
not take it, did not seem even to see it.

Gropingly, she turned to the door, went out slowly, still as if
feeling her way, reach