There were a few hasty steps, and then silence.
"You sent me a message, Mr. Fellowes."
In a moment he was beside her.
"Barbara!"
She stepped back as though the sound of her own name startled her.
"I love you. Women were made for love--you above all women. You think I
can only scribble poetry--you are wrong! I mean to--Barbara, my
Barbara!"
"You insult me, Mr. Fellowes."
He caught her in his arms as she turned away from him.
"Insult! Nonsense! Love insults no woman. You are mine--mine! I take you
as it is right a man should take a woman."
She struggled to free herself, but could not. She did not want to cry
out.
"You remembered your mother to-day, remember her now," she panted.
The wine fumes were in his head, confusion in his brain; reason had left
her seat for a while, and truth was distorted.
"I do remember her," he answered, speaking low but wildly. "She was a
woman. A man took her, as I take you; wooed her, loved her as I love
you. I do remember--that is why you are mine to-night."
She struggled again. She did not want to cry out. There was no man in
that room she wished to call upon to defend her--not even her uncle.
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