There was only a dim light in the great hall--candles upon a table at the far end. The moonlight came through the painted windows, staining the stone floor here and there with misty colours. There was no movement near her, but the sound of voices and laughter came from the chamber beyond--the one from which she had angrily departed some time ago. Now the voices were hushed to a murmur, now they were loud, and the laughter was irresponsible. How she hated the sound of it, and that shriller note, peculiarly persistent for a moment, was Mrs. Dearmer's. No Christian feeling could prevent her from hating that woman. Barbara crossed to the wide hearth and waited. A door opened suddenly; there was the rustling of the curtain which hung over it being thrust aside, a shaft of light shot across the hall for a moment, and the sounds of voices and laughter were loud, then the door closed again sharply. There were a few hasty steps, and then silence. "You sent me a message, Mr. Fellowes." In a moment he was beside her. "Barbara!" She stepped back as though the sound of her own name startled her. "I love you. Women were made for love--you above all women. You think I can only scribble poetry--you are wrong! I mean to--Barbara, my Barbara!" "You insult me, Mr. Fellowes." He caught her in his arms as she turned away from him. "Insult! Nonsense! Love insults no woman. You are mine--mine! I take you as it is right a man should take a woman." She struggled to free herself, but could not. She did not want to cry out. "You remembered your mother to-day, remember her now," she panted. The wine fumes were in his head, confusion in his brain; reason had left her seat for a while, and truth was distorted. "I do remember her," he answered, speaking low but wildly. "She was a woman. A man took her, as I take you; wooed her, loved her as I love you. I do remember--that is why you are mine to-night." She struggled again. She did not want to cry out. There was no man in that room she wished to call upon to defend her--not even her uncle. Evil seemed to surround her. Had any other man touched her like this, she would have called to Sydney Fellowes, so far had she believed in him and trusted him. "Barbara, you shall love me!" he went on, holding her so that she was powerless. "Love shall be sealed, my lips on yours." "Help! Save me from this man!" Her fierce, angry cry woke the echoes. In a moment there was the sound of hurrying feet, the sudden opening of a door, and again a shaft of light cut through the hall. Men and women rushed in from the adjoining room with loud and eager inquiry. Then Sir John, closely followed by Lord Rosmore. "Quick! More lights!" he said. "Who is it screaming for help?" "Is it some serving-maid in distress?" cried Branksome. "Or a fool too honest to be kissed," laughed a woman.