It was all bravado, his defiance of her, and he knew it.

He was completely in her power, to ruin for life if she chose to speak.
"And she will choose!" growled Carl Walraven, in a rage, "the accursed old hag! if Mollie Dane doesn't turn up before the month ends.

By the Lord Harry! I'll twist that wizen gullet of hers the next time she shows her ugly black face here! Confound Mollie Dane and all belonging to her! I've never known a day's rest since I met them first." There was a tap at the door.

The tall footman threw it open and ushered in Sir Roger Trajenna.

The stately old baronet looked ten years older in these few days.