'
'And you still are?'
'I still am, sir. And I beg not to be questioned any more about
it. At all events, I will not answer any more; I have that in my
power.'
She is so conscious of his looking at her with a gloating
admiration of the touch of anger on her, and the fire and animation
it brings with it, that even as her spirit rises, it falls again,
and she struggles with a sense of shame, affront, and fear, much as
she did that night at the piano.
'I will not question you any more, since you object to it so much;
I will confess - '
'I do not wish to hear you, sir,' cries Rosa, rising.
This time he does touch her with his outstretched hand. In
shrinking from it, she shrinks into her seat again.
'We must sometimes act in opposition to our wishes,' he tells her
in a low voice. 'You must do so now, or do more harm to others
than you can ever set right.'
'What harm?'
'Presently, presently. You question ME, you see, and surely that's
not fair when you forbid me to question you. Nevertheless, I will
answer the question presently. Dearest Rosa! Charming Rosa!'
She starts up again.
This time he does not touch her. But his face looks so wicked and
menacing, as he stands leaning against the sun-dial-setting, as it
were, his black mark upon the very face of day - that her flight is
arrested by horror as she looks at him.
'I do not forget how many windows command a view of us,' he says,
glancing towards them. 'I will not touch you again; I will come no
nearer to you than I am.
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