The man’s ears were as keen as hers and it was evident he had been neither hit nor deafened. He came straight for her, and she could only hope he would trip over some piece of furniture. She was safe from that danger for she had arranged the furniture herself. She dodged behind the center table and fired again, hoping that if she could not hit that agile shadow the servants would be roused by the noise. But they slept in a wing and were cut off from the main house by massive doors. This time she hardly noticed the sound, she heard nothing but the man’s heavy breathing. The shadow was on the opposite side of the table. She was about to fire, confident that this time he could not escape her, when he disappeared. A second later a hand caught her ankle and she was tripped and thrown flat. She had the presence of mind to give a violent lurch and roll behind a chair. But she had no time to rise, for the man had emerged from under the table and was feeling about the floor. She still clutched her pistol. She heard him rise to his feet and move about uncertainly. She held her breath, no longer terrified. She was too angry. The back of the chair was very high. She dared not raise her head. If he would only come round the corner. She felt a cold desire to kill, and would not fire again until he was so close it would be impossible to miss him. But he was standing still, his breath coming in short gasps. Then his breathing stopped altogether, while her own released breath sounded like a wind in her ears. An instant later he had flung the chair aside and was upon her. She managed to struggle to her feet but he had his arm about her and was groping for the pistol. His hot breath was on her face and she exerted herself frantically. She kicked him, and regretted her slippers. She tried to bite him and was tempted to drop the pistol and use her free hand to scratch his eyes out. But the pistol was her only hope, and even in that iron embrace she managed to duck and writhe and fling herself back. She was as strong as he was! Not for nothing was she an out-of-doors’ girl. She held her right hand rigidly behind her, twisting him about as well as herself as he tried to reach her hand. They revolved in absurd gyrations, breathless, speechless. Suddenly his hand grasped her right shoulder and tried to wrench it. She bent down her head and bit him. He gave a hard gasp, then jerked her still more firmly to him, put his hand over her face, forcing back her head, and rained kisses on her neck and throat. For a moment she had an illusion of paralysis. Not for an instant had she imagined the man was after anything but loot. He had come for her! Or was this revenge? Or a desperate attempt to shock her into submission? What difference? She knew that her skin was soft and sweet and the man virile. And she was almost at his mercy.