Dinah was looking at him very pleadingly; he laid his hand upon her arm, and she felt his fingers close with a strong, restraining pressure.

Mr. Grey turned to go.  “I make no excuse, Sir Eustace,” he said.  “I am begging for mercy, not justice.  My cause is urgent.  If one weapon fails, I must employ another.”

He went out with Scott, and Dinah was left alone with Sir Eustace.

He spoke at once, sternly and briefly, before she had time to open her lips.  “Dinah, this is no matter for your interference.  I forbid you to pursue it any further.”

His tone was crushingly absolute; she saw that he was white with anger.

She felt the colour die out of her own cheeks as she faced him.  But the Vicar’s few words had made a deep impression upon her; she forced back her fear.

“But, Eustace, is it true?” she said.  “Is the man’s wife really dying?  If so—­if so—­surely you will let him off!”

His grasp upon her arm tightened.  “Are you going to disobey me?” he said warningly.

His look was terrible, but she braved it.  “Yes—­yes, I am,” she said, with desperate courage.  “Eustace, I’ve never asked you to do anything before.  Couldn’t you—­can’t you—­do this one thing?”

She met the blazing wrath of his eyes though her heart felt stiff with fear.  It had come so suddenly, this ordeal, but she braced herself to meet it.  Horrible though it was to withstand him, the thought came to her that if she did not make the effort just once she would never have the strength again.

“You think me very impertinent,” she said, speaking quickly through quivering lips.  “But—­but—­I have a right to speak.  If I am to be—­your wife, you must not treat me as—­a servant.”

She saw his look change.  The anger went out of it, but something that was more terrible to her took its place, something that she could not meet.

She flinched involuntarily, and in the same moment he drew her close to him.  “Ah, Daphne, the adorable!” he said.  “I’ve never seen you at bay before!  You claim your privileges, do you?  You think I can refuse you nothing?”

She shrank at his tone—­the mastery of it, the confidence, the caress.

“You needn’t be afraid,” he said, and bent his face to hers.  “Whatever you wish is law.  But don’t forget one thing!  If I refuse you nothing, I must have everything in exchange.  ‘Love the gift is Love the debt,’ my Daphne.  You must give me freely all that you have in return.”

She trembled in his embrace.  Those passionate words of his frightened her anew.  Was it possible—­would it ever be possible—­to give him—­freely—­all that she had?

The doubt shot through her like the stab of a dagger even while she gave him the kiss he demanded for her audacity.  Her victory over him amazed her, so appalling had seemed the odds.  But in a fashion it dismayed her too.  He was too mighty a giant to kneel at her feet for long.  He would exact payment in full, she was sure, she was sure, for all that he gave her now.