"Never!" she cried.

"You have sufficiently persecuted me ere this.

I bid you go.
Begone!" "Vooman, you mad meh!" cried Peruchini, rushing forward, his hands first extended with palms upward, then clenched, his hair properly tumbled, his eyes correctly rolling.

"I vill not be teniet! Your puty, it is too much! Vooman, vooman, ah, have you no harret?
Py Heaven, I--" With a swift motion he grasped her wrists.

Color rose to the Donatelli cheek.