e as you say, you'd like me to be
happy, wouldn't you?"

"I'd make you happy," he said hoarsely.

She shook her head.

"No," she answered. "You couldn't make me happy. Only Michael can do
that. So you must let me go to him. . . . Antoine, I'd rather go with
your good wishes. Won't you give them to me? We've been friends so
long--"

"_Friends_?" he broke in fiercely. "No! We've never been 'friends.' I've
been your lover from the first moment I saw you, and shall be your lover
till I die!"

Magda retreated before his vehemence. She was still wearing her costume
of the Swan-Maiden, and there was something frailly virginal and elusive
about her as she drew away from him that set the hot, foreign blood in
him on fire. In two strides he was at her side, his hands gripping her
bare arms with a savage clasp that hurt her.

"_Mon adoree_!"

His voice was harsh with the tensity of passion, and the cry that
struggled from her throat for utterance was smothered by his lips on
hers. The burning kisses seemed to scorch her--consuming, overwhelming
her. When at last he took his mouth from hers she tried unavailingly to
free herself. But his clasp of her only tightened.

"Now you know how I love you," he said grimly. He was breathing
rather fast, but in some curious way he seemed to have regained his
self-control. It was as though he had only slipped the leash of passion
so that she might, as he said, comprehend his love for her. "Do you
think I'll give you up? I tell you I'd rather kill you than see you
Quarrington's wife."

Once more she made an effort to release herself.

"Oh, you're mad, you're mad!" she cried. "Let me go, Davilof! At once!"

"No," he said in a measured voice. "Don't struggle. I'm not going to let
you go. Not yet. I've reached my limit. You shall go when you promise to
marry me. Me, not Quarrington."

She had not been frightened by the storm of passion which had carried
him headlong. That had merely roused her to anger. But this quiet,
purposeful composure which had succeeded it filled her with an odd kind
of misgiving.

"It's absurd to talk like that," she said, holding on desperately to
her self-possession. "It's silly--and melodramatic, and only makes me
realise how glad I am I shall be Michael's wife and not yours."

"You will never be Quarrington's wife."

He spoke with conviction. Magda called up all her courage to defy him.

"And do you propose to prevent it?" she asked contemptuously.