"I will recall them," he cried, in a low, fierce voice. "You have a convenient memory, and may succeed for a time in banishing your thoughts, but you have that on your soul which no efforts of yours can banish--things which must haunt you, cold-blooded as you are, even as they have haunted me--my God!--and haunt me yet." "The state of your mind is of no concern to me. You had better obey my order, and go, so as not to add any more to your present apparent troubles." "Your taunts are foolish," said Gualtier, savagely. "You are in my power. What if I use it?" "Use it, then." Gualtier made a gesture of despair. "Do you know what it means?" he exclaimed. "I suppose so." "You do not--you can not. It means the downfall of all your hopes, your desires, your plans." "I tell you I no longer care for things like those." "You do not mean it--you can not. What! can you come down from being Lady Chetwynde to plain Hilda Krieff?" "I have implied that, I believe," said Hilda, in the same tone. "Now you understand me. Go and pull me down as fast as you like." "But," said Gualtier, more excitedly, "you do not know what you are saying. There is something more in store for you than mere humiliation--something worse than a change in station--something more terrible than ruin itself. You are a criminal. You know it. It is for this that you must give your account. And, remember, such crimes as yours are not common ones. Such victims as the Earl of Chetwynde and Zillah are not those whom one can sacrifice with impunity. It is such as these that will be traced back to you, and woe be to you when their blood is required at your hands! Can you face this prospect? Is this future so very indifferent to you? If you have nothing like remorse, are you also utterly destitute of fear?" "Yes," said Hilda. "I don't believe it," said Gualtier, rudely. "That is because you think I have no alternative," said Hilda; "it is a mistake into which a base and cowardly nature might naturally fall." "You have no alternative," said Gualtier. "It's impossible." "I have," said Hilda, calmly. "What?" She whispered one word. It struck upon Gualtier's ear with fearful emphasis. It was the same word which she had once whispered to him in the park at Chetwynde. He recoiled with horror. A shudder passed through him. Hilda looked at him with calm and unchanged contempt. "You dare not," he cried.