"She thinks I'll never do it, but she might know me a little bit better. I'll soon show her! I tell you straight, when I leave this house I go to my lawyer, and give him orders to start proceedings right away."

Caroline got up; her hat, her gloves rolled to the ground. She was breathing hardly. Scarcely realizing what she was doing, she moved awkwardly, almost stiffly, to the door and stood against it. Her movement, her att.i.tude drew his attention; he turned and looked at her.

His face was swollen now with the force of his increasing rage. He was almost shouting out his words. As he paused, his chest heaved as though he had just been through some violent exertion.

Caroline looked at him steadily.

"Please do not make so much noise; the servants will think you are killing me, and--and I have done nothing to deserve that."

Broxbourne frowned, stood for a moment looking at her in an uncertain way, and then sat down heavily.

"I beg your pardon," he said. He wiped his brow. "I'll do it," he said, hardly conscious that he was speaking. "A little prison life will teach her a lot of things she ought to know."

The girl standing at the door, shaking in every limb, could have cried aloud her pa.s.sionate abhorrence for him; but something stronger than anger and hate dominated her; it was fear. Strung up as he was, he was ripe for some quick and terrible revenge. Even now she could see his purpose was strengthening; in a few hours' time the world would be blazoned with this sorry, this miserable story. Camilla's pathetic face--Rupert--Agnes Brenton--the children limned themselves in turn before Caroline's eyes.

Though she would have given her life to have denied his accusation, she knew it was true. So much was explained now--so much--so much!

As Broxbourne made a move as if to get up, she commenced speaking indistinctly, half wildly.

"You have said a most terrible thing. You have accused this--my friend of a great crime, and you mean to have her punished. Why? Not for any honourable or upright reason, but because you are so angry with her that you are like a madman, and want to strike at her somehow, you don't care how. That seems to me to be very paltry."

Broxbourne wiped his brow again.

"Oh, indeed; I never asked for your opinion!" he said.

"I never asked you to go into a frenzy of rage," Caroline answered; "one good turn deserves another. If you try to frighten me out of my life, I am at liberty to tell you what I think of you; and what I think is not pleasant."

Sir Samuel sat down again, and looked at her steadily. She had a defiant--a picturesque air, standing against the door.

"I don't care what any one thinks," he said. "I'm the best judge of my own actions."

"Are you?" Caroline laughed. "Well, then, there must be something very wrong with you, even a schoolboy knows it is only a coward who hits a woman." She caught her breath. "I should not have taken you to be a coward, Sir Samuel."

He put his eyegla.s.s into his eye, and looked at her again.

His anger began to subside. As he fixed Caroline with a steady gaze, he unconsciously settled his collar, and fingered his tie.

"You're an odd sort of girl. Always thought you couldn't say 'Boo' to a goose, and here you are going at me as if you were made of fire."

Caroline laughed, such a tired, miserable laugh.

"You have never spoken to me before," she said.

"No, by Jove! but I've wanted to, many a time. I'm sure I've looked at you hard enough. First time I saw you, that night you threw my glove back at me, do you remember? I took a fancy to you."

"Really!" said Caroline.

Her heart was quaking. She was horribly afraid of him, but this fear was as nothing compared to that withering, awful one of a few moments before. She moved away from the door, turning the handle, and pulling it open as she went.

"Yes, really; but you know it; every pretty woman knows her own power."

He made her change colour; she was very interesting.

He was not sure that her head was not prettier than Camilla's; and her eyes were glorious. His critical glance travelled over her body; the lines were perfect; she stood so well. When he arrived at her feet, and saw her mud-stained boots, he frowned.

"You're not only pretty, but you're a good sort, though you do call me a coward," he said jerkily. "I tell you what. I like grit, and you've got plenty of it. It isn't every woman, let me tell you, that would walk nine miles through the country in the dead of the night, just to stand by another woman! I didn't take it in at first, but, by Jove! I do now. I'll shake hands with you, Miss Graniger."

He got up. Caroline seemed to grow suddenly very small.

"I--I cannot shake hands with you, Sir Samuel," she said, hoping her voice would not desert her altogether.

"Why?"

"Because I am afraid of you."

"Afraid?" he laughed almost good-humouredly. "Oh, come, I won't believe that, I don't believe you could be afraid of anything or anybody!"

Caroline looked at him, and looked away.

"You are very strong and fierce, and I think you can be cruel."

He laughed again.

"All granted; but I shan't hurt _you_. I give you my word I won't."

Caroline bit her lip.

"If you hurt Camilla, you will hurt me horribly."

He frowned sharply.

"That's another matter," he said.

"No, it is all one; I love her. I love her children." Caroline's voice broke.

"Don't cry," said Broxbourne, drawing a little nearer.

She shrank away from him, but not visibly. Her heart was beating in her throat.

The last remnant of anger had gone from his expression, his eyes were softer, his hands moved restlessly. Her white quivering face had more significance to him than mere prettiness in this moment. He had measured her will already in many an abortive attempt to attract her.

There had been an element of contempt in her indifference, in her cold rejection of his admiration, that had given her a lasting place in his thoughts. It gratified him strangely now to feel that he could move her, that he had beaten down that barrier of indifference. To a considerable degree, this surrender as it were to his power helped to reinstate him.

He was not likely to forget for many a day that he had been outwitted, made a fool of by a woman whom he imagined he had under his thumb, but there was more than a pa.s.sing sensation of satisfaction and even pleasure in the realization that he could wring tears from such a girl as Caroline, that he had broken down such a proud spirit as hers.

He approached her a step nearer, but an interruption came to this little scene at this moment.

As Caroline had opened the door the cook, who had been hovering outside on the staircase (really nervous as to what was pa.s.sing) made her appearance.