t a few times, and he had rivetted round her a chain
which linked her closely to himself. He had exerted the masterful
fascination which was his to bring her completely under his power.
Love is a stronger motive than even hate. He made Ellenor love him
that he might be sure she would keep secret his dealings with
smugglers. He felt absolutely certain that if once she cared for him
she would be loyal, even to death. Therefore he fanned the flame of
the liking she had openly avowed into a wide spreading blaze, which
might burn up her peace and contentment, for all he cared, he said
to himself, with a derisive laugh.

In spite of scorn and derision, however, he felt an interest in her
which was quite foreign to his selfish and exploiting nature. With
admirable perseverance he crushed every rising of this interest and
stamped it under foot. But it proved strangely unconquerable, and it
rose again and again, vital and conflicting, to taunt him with its
indestructibility. He certainly could not have told himself why he
liked to meet this girl so often on the sly and why he liked to kiss
her red lips and make her eyes shine into his. But the fact that he
_did_ like the meetings and _did_ look forward to the kisses, was
quite a dominant factor in his life. Still, these things were apart:
ambition, money, reputation were more to the master of Orvilliere
Farm than all the girls in creation. He had not the slightest
intention of marrying a peasant girl, but he did intend to have a
rich well-born wife--a pretty one, if possible.

As he sat on the _jonquiere_, he watched keenly, in a business-like
spirit, the gay gestures and pretty dimples of Blaisette Simon, who
was the most eager listener of the story-telling group. He had often
thought of her as a possible wife. But she was such a universal
flirt, that, hitherto, he had received no special encouragement.
To-night, however, he felt inclined to exert the full power of
attraction which he was quite capable of appreciating and using. All
women, whether they avow it or not, love to find their master and
bend to him; and Dominic was of the very essence of virility.
Indeed, one outspoken girl of Torteval parish said she would rather
be beaten by Le Mierre than be kissed by a man all gentleness and
kindness.

In a few minutes, Blaisette had left the story-tellers and joined
Dominic on the _jonquiere_. She had not the faintest idea how it was
she had risen to go to him, but his welco