She paused almost upon the threshold. “If you do a rashness, here, remember that I can still act without you,” she reminded him. “You may choose to believe that that man is your brother, and so, out of that, and”--she added with a cruel sneer at Hortensia--“other considerations, you may elect to let him go. But remember that you still have me to reckon with. Whether he prove of your blood or not, he cannot prove himself of mine--thank God!” His lordship bowed in silence, preserving an unmoved countenance, whereupon she cursed him for a fool, and passed out. He closed the door, and turned the key, Hortensia watching him in a sort of horror. “Let me go!” she found voice to cry at last, and advanced towards the door herself. But Rotherby came to meet her, his face white, his eyes glowing. She fell away before his opening arms, and he stood still, mastering himself. “That man,” he said, jerking a backward thumb at the closed door, “lives or dies, goes free or hangs, as you shall decide, Hortensia.” She looked at him, her face haggard, her heart beating high in her throat as if to suffocate her. “What do you mean?” she asked. “You love him!” he growled. “Pah! I see it in your eyes--in your tremors--that you do. It is for him that you are afraid, is't not?” “Why do you mock me with it?” she inquired with dignity. “I do not mock you, Hortensia. Answer me! Is it true that you love him?” “It is true,” she answered steadily. “What is't to you?” “Everything!” he answered hotly. “Everything! It is Heaven and Hell to me. Ten days ago, Hortensia, I asked you to marry me--” “No more,” she begged him, an arm thrown out to stay him. “But there is more,” he answered, advancing again. “This time I can make the offer more attractive. Marry me, and Caryll is not only free to depart, but no evidence shall be laid against him. I swear it! Refuse me, and he hangs as surely--as surely as you and I talk together here this moment.” Cold eyes scathed him with contempt. “God!” she cried. “What manner of monster are you, my lord? To speak so--to speak of marriage to me, and to speak of hanging a man who is son to that same father of yours who lies above stairs, not yet turned cold. Are you human at all?” “Ay--and in nothing so human as in my love for you, Hortensia.” She put her hands to her face. “Give me patience!” she prayed. “The insult of it after what has passed! Let me go, sir; open that door, and let me go.” He stood regarding her a moment, with lowering brows. Then he turned, and went slowly to the door. “He dies, remember!” said he, and the words, the sinister tone and the sinister look that was stamped upon his face, shattered her spirit as at a blow. “No, no!” she faltered, and advanced a step or two. “Oh, have pity!” “When you show me pity,” he answered. She was beaten. “You--you swear to let him go--to see him safely out of England--if--if I consent?”