“You take a high tone, mistress,” he said tauntingly, “but it will be long ere Carew finds you; you are safe enough at last!” Betty’s anger for the time conquered her womanly fears; her hatred of the man, her contempt for an act that seemed to her one of cowardly wickedness, made her forgetful of her peril. “You villain!” she cried, her form quivering with passion, “have you no better employment than to make war on a defenceless woman? It is like you! He who would strike a man from ambush is capable of any shamelessness. Undo the door, sir, or I will call the watch and make your name a byword in London!” “Scream your loudest; it will not aid you,” he retorted coolly. “Come, come, my pretty shrew; I have you now, and you shall rue the day you struck my face with your whip.” In spite of her anger, a feeling of dismay was beginning to shake Mistress Betty’s resolution. She remembered that there was a little dagger in her belt that she had thrust there in the morning when she set out to the Tower. The thought of it was some small comfort; she had, at least, a weapon. She would not let him see any wavering; she held her head high and faced him like a beautiful fury. “If you dare to harm me,” she said haughtily, “Sir William Carew will leave no stone unturned until you are brought to justice.” Henge laughed again his unpleasant laugh, that rang in her ears with the sound of triumph in it. “Look you, fair mistress, is it well to flaunt your influence in my face?” he asked her. “You and your precious lover defied me. Where is Simon Raby now? Safe, where he can neither save you nor himself. A traitor in the Tower! Beware, lest Carew falls in a like trap.” “Ah, now I know!” cried Betty; “a fool I was, and blind. ’Tis you who ensnared Lord Raby! ’tis you who would ruin my uncle. Villain! liar! coward! I defy you!” “You young she-devil, you!” exclaimed Henge, advancing toward her, “I would wring that white neck of yours for your insults, did I not know I could invent a slower, surer punishment. I have you, my shrew, and you shall not escape me.” At his first step toward her, Betty retreated to a window, and now she tried to unfasten the shutter, crying out for help at the top of her strong, young voice. “Scream away!” said Henge bitterly, his face full of dark enjoyment of her despair, “no one will help you; a screaming woman in this quarter of the town is no novelty. Do you look for your lover from the Tower to rescue you? You pretty fool!” he added contemptuously, “you are mine, mine as sure as death!”