"Remembering how entirely you are in my power," he said, "I ask you, is it wise to anger me?" "You never loved me," she repeated; "Earle loved me, and would have died any day to save my fair name! You never loved me, you loved yourself!" "I repeat it, I loved you with a passion so terrible, so fierce, so violent, it frightened me! I loved you so, that I would have lost wealth, fortune, position--ah! life itself--for you!" Her white lips smiled scornfully; that calm, proud, scorn drove him beside himself. "You have been some time in discovering it," she said. "That is your mistake," he replied; "do you know, Doris, I swear what I am saying is true. Do you know why I was so gay, so happy, so light of heart on the day you left me? It was because my love had beaten down my pride, and on that very evening I had resolved upon asking you to be my wife." "I do not believe it," she cried. "It is true; I swear it on the faith and honor of a gentleman. I swear it on the word of a man." "I should need a stronger oath than that," she said. "I swear it then by your own falseness, and by your own deceit; can any oath be stronger than that? On that very evening I had resolved upon asking you to be my wife. I was determined to make our union legal. I loved you so that I could not live without you." She made no reply for one minute, but looked steadily at him: then she said: "I do thank Heaven that I have been spared the degradation of becoming your wife." "Yet you were content to be my companion," he said. Her face flushed hotly at the words. "I have lost you, how long, Dora, how many months? Do you think my love has grown less in that time? Do you think it has faded or grown cold. If you imagine so, you do no justice to your own marvelous beauty; you do no justice to your own fascination; a thousand times no! It is a burning torrent now that carries all before it: it is a tempest that will know no abatement--Dora, you had lost your usual shrewdness when you thought that absence would cure such love as mine." "My name is Lady Studleigh, not Dora," she said proudly. "Once for all, Lord Vivianne, your love does not in the least interest me." "You will have to take an interest in it," he replied; "I swear, for the future, you shall know no other love." "I will never know yours," she replied. He laughed contemptuously. "It is no use, Dora," he said; "you must really excuse me; I cannot help enjoying my triumph; I would not laugh if I could help it, but, my dear Dora, I _cannot_ help it. Did you ever see a fly in a spider's web? Did you ever watch it struggle and fight and strive to escape, while the spider, one could fancy, was shaking his filmy sides with laughter? Have you ever seen that terrible phenomenon in natural history? You, my poor Dora, are the helpless little fly, I am the spider. It is not an elegant comparison, but it is perfectly true; you are in my power completely, thoroughly, and nothing can take you from me."