They rode on in silence, further into the forest to a ride Dominica recognised. She was being taken to the old hunting-lodge belonging to the Vasconosa estate. It seemed to her a crowning insult that he should dare to take her to a house not five miles from where her aunt lay. She fairly gnashed her little teeth over it, and her cheeks flew colours of rage. They drew up before the door. He lifted her down from the saddle, and, looking round, she saw that the troop had dispersed, only one man remaining to take their horses. Ignominy upon ignominy! She guessed the men to be hildings employed upon the estate, and could imagine what chuckles and sly looks were passing between them at her expense. Anger consumed her; there was no room for fear. Luis, Don Diego's valet, had come out, bowing to them. He held the door wide; she hesitated a moment, and then brushed past him into the hall of the lodge. Diego, following her close, found her tapping her foot by the table. "Dearest cousin you are surprisingly beautiful when you are enraged," he told her. "There is a chamber prepared for you upstairs. I regret I have no tirewoman to offer you, or any change of raiment. But you will find such things as you need, and you have only to call, and Luis will bring you what you ask for." "Your consideration passes belief, cousin," she said. "I do not purpose to make a long stay, I thank you. I shall be glad to know what you intend by me." The valet went discreetly away to the kitchens. Dominica was left facing her cousin, straight and stiff in the middle of the hall. "I intend marriage, child, as I think you know." "Is this the way you woo in Spain, señor?" He came closer. "It is the only way to use with such a wild maid as you, Dominica." "You are doomed to disappointment, señor. It is no way to use with me." He smiled. "You are tired from your long ride, and these alarms you have sustained. Come, child, cry a truce, and let me lead you to your chamber! When you have reposed yourself a little we will talk." She ignored his outstretched hand, but turned towards the stairs. She had need to collect herself, to marshal her defences. She saw that she stood in great danger; she would need all her wits about her to evade it, and she was indeed shaken. Moreover, while he thought her safe upstairs she might contrive to escape, she thought. Doña Beatrice might stand back and allow her son to do his worst, but Dominica was fairly sure she would not take a more active part in this villainy. If she could win to her side she would be safe enough. This hazy idea of flight was soon put to rout. Don Diego, ushering her into a chamber upstairs that gave on to the little garden at the back of the lodge, displayed a key. "You will forgive the discourtesy, dear cousin, but I must lock you in. I will come to fetch you to dinner in an hour, if it please you!" She would not trust herself to speak; her breast heaved. She turned sharply on her heel, and walked into the room.