In the America of to-day, nothing short of desperate crime could long keep her from Rex's arms. What a weak, silly, romantic girl she had been not to trust in him absolutely! The knowledge nerved her to a fine scorn. "What right have you to treat me in this way?" she cried vehemently. "You have lied to me; brought me here by a forged letter. Let me go instantly, and perhaps my just indignation may not lead me to tell my agent how you have dared to use his name with false pretense." "Ho, ho!" sang out Voles. "The little bird pipes an angry note. Be pacified, my sweet linnet. You were getting into bad company. It was the duty of your relatives to rescue you." "My relatives! Who are they who claim kinship? I see here one who posed as my aunt for many years--" "Posed, Winnie?" Miss Craik affected a croak of regretful protest. Winifred's eyes shot lightnings. "Yes. I am sure you are not my aunt. Many things I can recall prove it to me. Why do you never mention my father and mother? What wrong have I done to any living soul that, ever since you were mixed up in the attack on Mr. Ronald Tower, you should deal with me as if I were a criminal or a lunatic, and seek to part me from those who would befriend me?" "Hush, little girl," interposed Voles, with mock severity. "You don't know what you're saying. You are hurting your dear aunt's feelings. She is your aunt. I ought to know, considering that you are my daughter!" "Your daughter!" Now, indeed, she felt ready to dare dragons. This coarse, brutal giant of a man her father! Her gorge rose at the suggestion. Almost fiercely she resolved to hold her own against these persecutors who scrupled not to use any lying device that would suit their purpose. "Yes," he cried truculently. "Don't I come up to your expectations?" "If you are my father," she said, with a strange self-possession that came to her aid in this trying moment, "where is my mother?" "Sorry to say she died long since." "Did you murder her as you tried to murder Mr. Tower?" The chance shot went home, though it hit her callous hearer in a way she could not then appreciate. He swore violently. "You're my daughter, I tell you," he vociferated, "and the first thing you have to learn is obedience. Your head has been turned, young lady, by your pretty Rex and his nice ways. I'll have to teach you not to address me in that fashion. Take her to her room, Rachel." Driven to frenzy by a dreadful and wholly unexpected predicament, Winifred cast off the hand her "aunt" laid on her shoulder. "Let me go!" she screamed. "I will not accompany you. I do not believe a word you say. If you touch me, I shall defend myself." "Spit-fire, eh?" she heard Voles say. There was something of a struggle. She never knew exactly what happened. She found herself clasped in his giant arms and heard his half jesting protest: "Now, my butterfly, don't beat your little wings so furiously, or you'll hurt yourself."