'Oh save me, Madame!--oh save me!--oh save me, Madame!' I pleaded, with the wild monotony of perfect terror, grasping and clinging to her dress, and looking up, with an agonised face, into the eyes of that shadowy Atropos. 'Save a you, indeed! Save! What _niaiserie_!' 'Oh, Madame! Oh, _dear_ Madame! for God's sake, only get me away--get me from this, and I'll do everything you ask me all my life--I will--_indeed_, Madame, I will! Oh save me! save me! _save_ me!' I was clinging to Madame as to my guardian angel in my agony. 'And who told you, cheaile, you are in any danger?' demanded Madame, looking down on me with a black and witchlike stare. 'I am, Madame--I am--in great danger! Oh, Madame, think of me--take pity on me! I have none to help me--there is no one but God and you!' Madame all this time viewed me with the same dismal stare, like a sorceress reading futurity in my face. 'Well, maybe you are--how can I tell? Maybe your uncle is mad--maybe you are mad. You have been my enemy always--why should I care?' Again I burst into wild entreaty, and, clasping her fast, poured forth my supplications with the bitterness of death. 'I have no confidence in you, little Maud; you are little rogue--petite traîtresse! Reflect, if you can, how you 'av always treat Madame. You 'av attempt to ruin me--you conspire with the bad domestics at Knowl to destroy me--and you expect me here to take a your part! You would never listen to me--you 'ad no mercy for me--you join to hunt me away from your house like wolf. Well, what you expect to find me now? _Bah_!' This terrific 'Bah!' with a long nasal yell of scorn, rang in my ears like a clap of thunder. 'I say you are mad, petite insolente, to suppose I should care for you more than the poor hare it will care for the hound--more than the bird who has escape will love the oiseleur. I do not care--I ought not care. It is your turn to suffer. Lie down on your bed there, and suffer quaitely.' CHAPTER LXIII _SPICED CLARET_ I did not lie down; but I despaired. I walked round and round the room, wringing my hands in utter distraction. I threw myself at the bedside on my knees. I could not pray; I could only shiver and moan, with hands clasped, and eyes of horror turned up to heaven. I think Madame was, in her malignant way, perplexed. That some evil was intended me I am sure she was persuaded; but I dare say Meg Hawkes had said rightly in telling me that she was not fully in their secrets.