She stamped, tried to push past him, and failed. "You will never wed me!" she defied him. "You are ungenerous, base! You hold me prisoner, and do as you will with me!" He had her fast indeed, with his hands gripping her arms above the elbows. He shook her slightly. "Nay nay, there's no talk of prisoners or of goalers, Dominica, but only of a man and a maid. What harm have I done you?" "You forced me! You dared to kiss me, and held me powerless!" "I cry pardon. But you may stab me with mine own dagger, sweeting. See, it is ready to your hand. A swift, sure revenge! No? What will you have me do, then?" His hands slid down her arms to her wrists; he bent, and kissed her fingers. "There! let it be forgot--until I kiss you again." That was said with a quick whimsical glance, daringly irrepressible. "That will be never, señor." "And so she flings down her gauntlet. I pick it up, my lady, and will give you a Spanish proverb for answer:--_Vivir para ver!_" "You will scarcely wed me by force," she retorted. "Even you!" He considered the point. "True, child, that were too easy a course." "I warrant you would not find it so!" "Marry, is it yet another challenge?" he inquired. She drew back a pace. "You would not!" "Nay, have I not said I will not? Be at ease, ye shall have a royal wooing." "And where will you woo me?" she asked scornfully. "My home is in the very heart of Spain, I'd have you know." "Be sure I shall follow you there," he promised, and laughed to see her face of incredulous wonder. "Braggart! Oh, idle boaster! How should you dare?" "Look for me in Spain before a year is out," he answered. "My hand upon it." "There is a Holy Inquisition in Spain, señor," she reminded him. "There is, señora," he said rather grimly, and produced from out his doublet a book bound in leather. "And it is like to have you in its clutches if you keep such dangerous stuff as this about you, my lass," he said. She turned pale, and clasped her hands nervously at her bosom. "Where found you that?" The breath caught in her throat. "In your cabin aboard the _Santa Maria_, child. If that is the mind you are in the sooner I have you safe out of Spain the better for you." He gave the book into her hands. "Hide it close, or sail with me to England." "Do not tell my father!" she said urgently. "Why, can you not trust me? Oh, unkind!" "I suppose it is no affair of yours, señor," she said, recovering her dignity. "I thank you for my book. Now let me pass." "I have a name, child. I believe I made you free of it." She swept a curtsey. "Oh, I thank you--Sir Nicholas Beauvallet!" she mocked, and fled past him down the companion. CHAPTER IV