quietly.

She looked up with scared eyes.

"No."

"Put them on," said the Beggar Man once again.

"No." Only a whisper this time.

He stooped and raised her to her feet. He held her arms firmly, so that
it was impossible for her to escape him.

"I've tried all ways with you," he said, and his voice sounded a little
laboured and difficult. "At least, I hope I have. I've made every
allowance for you and tried to be patient. That was my mistake; I should
have shown you first of all that I was your master. Faith--look at me!"

She had been standing with her head down-drooping, and he could feel how
she trembled, but he did not soften.

"Look at me," he said again, and she looked up.

Her brown eyes met his--kind no longer, only stern and determined--and
for a moment neither spoke. But in that silence something seemed to tell
Faith how useless was her resistance, how truly he had spoken when he
said that he was her master.

Then he let her go and stood back a pace.

"Now are you coming with me?" he asked.

She put on her hat and coat without a word, and she heard him go out
into the hall and into the street and send a boy for a taxi.

When he came back she was standing apathetically by the table, looking
round the room which she was never to see again.

She hated him because he was tearing her away from the only home she
knew--hated him because her mother had hated him; the knowledge had
quite killed the first immature affection she had felt for him, quite
wiped out all the romance.

The Beggar Man stood for a moment in the doorway, looking at her, and
there was a great longing in his heart to try and comfort her, to try
and drive that look of desolation from her childish face, but he knew it
was no moment for wavering.

"Are you ready?" he asked, and his pity made his voice harsh.

"Yes."

She followed him out of the house without another word or backward
glance, but her heart felt as if it were breaking. She kept telling
herself that this was her punishment for having deceived her mother. She
wished she could fall down dead, as her mother had done.

Forrester only spoke to her once during the drive to his rooms, and that
was when he leaned forward and forced her wedding ring back to her
third finger.

"Don't you ever dare to take it off again," he said.

There was a little smile in his eyes as he spoke, but she only heard the
masterfulness of his voice, and she shrank back as if he had struck he