His dark, flushed face hovered above her own.
Fear took her at last.

It mounted and grew to horror.

"Let me go, my lord," she besought him, her voice trembling.

"Oh, let me go!" "I love you, Hortensia! I need you!" he cried, as if wrung by pain, and then hot upon her brow and cheeks and lips his kisses fell, and shame turned her to fire from head to foot as she fought helplessly within his crushing grasp.
"You dog!" she panted, and writhing harder, wrenched free a hand and arm.

Blindly she beat upwards into that evil satyr's face.