He made a lunge at her, which she managed to evade, moving over to the opposite end of the sofa. But quick as a cat Markheim was after her. He was just drunk enough to have lost his head, but not drunk enough to be clumsy. It was at this moment that Peaches began to be afraid of him. "No, no!" she cried, trying to get away from his pudgy hands. "I tell you I don't love you--please! Let me alone. Mark, don't make me afraid!" "Why should you be afraid?" he asked thickly. "You are going to marry me--do you hear? I've stood your offishness long enough. I've kept away from you whenever you said. I've been a fool! But you are mine, understand? Mine! You've promised. Everyone knows it, and by heaven I'll take you when I see fit. Come here!" Peaches felt as if she were caught in the meshes of some horrid dream. With a sudden wrench she broke loose from him, darting round the end of the sofa. But with an amazing agility Markheim vaulted the back and was after her, hot in a pursuit made silent by the thickness of the heavy carpet, their panting breath the only noise in the big room. A single lamp was the only light, but it was enough to show her his face, purple, bestial--suggesting a chasm of horror. Swift as she was she could not escape him. He was at the door behind her, barring her way, smiling terribly. Then at the French windows as quickly as she reached them, his hot moist hands upon hers, even as she seized the knob. Then back across the room again in fierce pursuit. He seemed to have gone quite mad and become possessed with an uncanny swiftness and strength. Then Peaches stumbled across a great chair, and in another instant his arms were about her, his hot breath upon her face. "Help!" she cried, struggling to release her hands, which he held behind her back. "Help! Sebastian--you beast--let me go, let me go!" And then the whirlwind happened. Some terrific force like a giant cloud of vengeance tore the satyr from her; and there was Sandro, his face white and fierce. With a single gesture he had thrown Markheim half across the room, and stood with squared fists waiting for the assault which came almost at once. "You rotter!" sang out the newcomer. "Take your dirty hide out of here!" With a howl of rage and surprise Markheim picked himself up and came at his manservant with purple face and popping eyes. "What the hell are you doing here?" he shouted. "Leave the room!" "Not until I've given you the thrashing of your life!" replied the valet. "Come and get your punishment if you won't clear out!"