Go, and I will do it!' Again Rosa quails before his threatening face, though innocent of its meaning, and she remains.

Her panting breathing comes and goes as if it would choke her; but with a repressive hand upon her bosom, she remains.
'I have made my confession that my love is mad.

It is so mad, that had the ties between me and my dear lost boy been one silken thread less strong, I might have swept even him from your side, when you favoured him.' A film comes over the eyes she raises for an instant, as though he had turned her faint.
'Even him,' he repeats.

'Yes, even him! Rosa, you see me and you hear me.

Judge for yourself whether any other admirer shall love you and live, whose life is in my hand.' 'What do you mean, sir ?' 'I mean to show you how mad my love is.