Part 20 (1/2)

The colour drained from the girl's face; even her lips looked white, and the Beggar Man went on hurriedly and rather pathetically:

”It makes me terribly unhappy to see you like this. I had hoped such great things ... I was a fool, I suppose. Faith, have you forgotten those first days when we knew each other? You were happy enough then....”

She turned her face away obstinately.

”I did not know who you were then.”

The Beggar Man shrugged his shoulders.

”Well, we won't argue about it. How soon can you be ready? Miss Fraser has packed all the things it will be necessary for you to take. I will send for a taxi if you will put on your hat and coat.”

”I am not going; I am going to stay here.”

He walked out of the room without a word, returning almost at once with her hat and coat. He laid them down beside her on the table.

”Put them on,” he said quietly.

She looked up with scared eyes.

”No.”

”Put them on,” said the Beggar Man once again.

”No.” Only a whisper this time.

He stooped and raised her to her feet. He held her arms firmly, so that it was impossible for her to escape him.

”I've tried all ways with you,” he said, and his voice sounded a little laboured and difficult. ”At least, I hope I have. I've made every allowance for you and tried to be patient. That was my mistake; I should have shown you first of all that I was your master. Faith--look at me!”

She had been standing with her head down-drooping, and he could feel how she trembled, but he did not soften.

”Look at me,” he said again, and she looked up.

Her brown eyes met his--kind no longer, only stern and determined--and for a moment neither spoke. But in that silence something seemed to tell Faith how useless was her resistance, how truly he had spoken when he said that he was her master.

Then he let her go and stood back a pace.

”Now are you coming with me?” he asked.

She put on her hat and coat without a word, and she heard him go out into the hall and into the street and send a boy for a taxi.

When he came back she was standing apathetically by the table, looking round the room which she was never to see again.

She hated him because he was tearing her away from the only home she knew--hated him because her mother had hated him; the knowledge had quite killed the first immature affection she had felt for him, quite wiped out all the romance.

The Beggar Man stood for a moment in the doorway, looking at her, and there was a great longing in his heart to try and comfort her, to try and drive that look of desolation from her childish face, but he knew it was no moment for wavering.

”Are you ready?” he asked, and his pity made his voice harsh.

”Yes.”