“I mean to be heard,” began the Greek, but she cut him short with a sudden stamp of her foot. “You can mean what you like,” she said imperiously, “but heard you will not be!” “You beautiful fury!” “Go away and leave me!” “Helena,” cried the Count, falling on his knees, “I love you! I adore you! Do not refuse to be my wife.” “I do refuse!” “But your father?” “Leave my father out of the question, Andros. You have asked me to be your wife, and I tell you plainly, No. Perhaps I have been rather angry, but when you ask a woman to honor you by becoming your wife, you should not treat her as if she were a bundle of goods to be handed from one man to another.” “You refuse me?” asked Caliphronas, hardly able to believe his own ears. “I do, once and for all! Come, Andros, stop talking such nonsense, and forget all this scene.” “Why will you not be my wife?” asked the Count doggedly, rising from his knees. “Because I do not love you.” “Not love me!” “No, my sultan. Do you think I am a woman to fall at your feet when you thus throw the handkerchief?” Caliphronas, who had suppressed his rage with difficulty, now burst out in a passion of furious anger, hardly knowing what he was saying. “I know the reason you refuse me. Yes, you do well to turn away your head. You love this cursed Englishman. Ah, you cannot deny it! you are afraid to look me in the face.” “I am not afraid—there!” She faced him boldly, and the Greek, maddened beyond control, seized her by the wrist with a grasp like iron, yet she neither winced nor cried. “Is it thus a woman should proffer her love?” hissed Caliphronas, white with passion; “this Englishman loves you not, and yet you throw yourself at his feet.” “I do not. Let go my hand!” she cried, wincing with pain, yet keeping a bold front, upon which he flung her from him with a furious oath. “I will marry you, in spite of your refusal.” “Never! I will die rather than be your wife.” The young man tried to speak, but, choking with passion, could say nothing, so, stamping with impotent fury, he rushed to the principal entrance of the court and tore aside the curtains. “You have refused to marry me,” he cried in a strangled voice. “I accept your refusal, but you will be mine soon. I will storm the island, I will drag you in chains away, and when I tire of you then will I sell you as a slave to the Turk!” He dashed out of the court with a scream of rage, leaving Helena standing white as a marble statue, with her hands across her breast, which was heaving tempestuously with rage at the Greek’s insolence. If she had, girl as she was, refused the offer of Caliphronas in a somewhat undignified manner, she was now every inch a woman, who, not knowing the meaning of the word “fear,” was fiercely angered at the insult to her womanly pride. The soft, graceful girl had disappeared, and in her place stood Clytemnestra, fearlessly daring the dagger of Orestes. Suddenly she felt a touch on her arm. “Father!”