"Yes." Then, suddenly: "_Adoree_, don't force me to do it! I don't
want to. Because it will hurt you horribly. And it will all be saved if
you'll promise to marry me."

He spoke appealingly, with an earnestness that was unmistakable. But
Magda's nerve was gradually returning.

"You don't seem to understand that you can't prevent my marrying
Michael--or anyone else," she said coolly. "You haven't the power."

"I can prevent your marrying Michael"--doggedly.

She was silent a moment.

"I suppose," she said at last, "you think that because he once thought
badly of me you can make him think the same again. Well, you can't.
Michael and I trust each other--absolutely!"

Her face was transfigured. Michael trusted her now! Nothing could
really hurt her while he believed in her. She could afford to laugh at
Antoine's threat.

"And now," she said quietly, "will you please release me?"

Slowly, reluctantly Davilof's hands dropped from her arms, revealing red
weals where the grip of his fingers had crushed the soft, white flesh.
He uttered a stifled exclamation as his eyes fell on the angry-looking
marks.

"_Mon dieu_! I've hurt you--"

"No!" Magda faced him with a defiance that was rather splendid. "No!
_You can't_ hurt me, Davilof. Only the man I love can do that."

He flinched at the proud significance of the words--denying him even
the power to hurt her. It was almost as though she had struck him,
contemptuously disdainful of his toy weapons--the weapons of the man who
didn't count.

There was a long silence. At last he spoke.

"You'll be sorry for that," he said in a voice of concentrated anger.
"Damned sorry. Because it isn't true. I _can_ hurt you. And by God,
if you won't marry me, I will! . . . Magda----" With one of the
swift changes so characteristic of the man he softened suddenly into
passionate supplication. "Have a little mercy! God! If you knew how I
love you, you couldn't turn me away. Wait! Think again--"

"That will do." She checked him imperiously. "I don't want your love.
And for the future please understand that you won't even be a friend. I
don't wish to see or speak to you again!"

CHAPTER XXII

THE ROPES OF STEEL

Magda sat gazing idly into the fire, watching with abstracted eyes the
flames leap up and curl gleefully round the fresh logs with which she
had just fed it. She was thinking about nothing in particular--merely
revelling in the pleasant warmth and comfort of the room an