And then a species of wild courage entered into Dinah. She turned at last at bay. "I will not write it! I would sooner die! If--if this thing is true, it would be far easier to die! I couldn't marry any man now who had any pride of birth." She was terribly white, but she faced her tormentor unflinching, her eyes like stars. And it came to Mrs. Bathurst with unpleasant force that she had taken a false step which it was impossible to retrace. It was then that the evil spirit that had been goading her entered in and took full possession. She gripped Dinah's shoulder till she winced with pain. "Mother, you--you are hurting me!" "Yes, and I will hurt you," she made answer. "I'll hurt you as I've never hurt you yet if you dare to disobey me! I'll crush you to the earth before I will endure that from you. Now! For the last time! Will you write that letter? Think well before you refuse again!" She towered over Dinah with awful determination, wrought up to a pitch of fury by her resistance that almost bordered upon insanity. Dinah's boldness waned swiftly before the iron force that countered it. But her resolution remained unshaken, a resolution from which no power on earth could move her. "I can't do it--possibly," she said. "You mean you won't?" said Mrs. Bathurst. Dinah nodded, and gripped the table hard to endure what should follow. "You--mean--you won't?" Mrs. Bathurst said again very slowly. "I will not." The white lips spoke the words, and closed upon them. Dinah sat rigid with apprehension. Mrs. Bathurst took her hand from her shoulder and turned from her. The candle that had been burning all the evening was low in its socket. She lifted it out and went to the fireplace. There were some shavings in the grate. She pushed the lighted candle end in among them; then, as the fire roared up the chimney, she turned. An open trunk was close to her with the dainty pale green dress that Dinah had worn the previous evening lying on the top. She took it up, and bundled the soft folds together. Then violently she flung it on to the flames. Dinah gave a cry of dismay, and started to her feet. "Mother! What are you doing? Mother! Are you mad?" Mrs. Bathurst looked at her with eyes of blazing vindictiveness. "If you are not going to be married, you won't need a trousseau," she said grimly. "These things are quite unfit for a girl in your station. For Lady Studley they would of course have been suitable, but not for such as you." She turned back to the open trunk with the words, and began to sweep together every article of clothing it contained. Dinah watched her in horror-stricken silence. She remembered with odd irrelevance how once in her childhood for some petty offence her mother had burnt a favourite doll, and then had whipped her soundly for crying over her loss.