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"I have warned you, I must still warn you, to go hence. This man will destroy you else. He is a tyrant who knows no pity. I, who am his fettered slave, know this. Poor Miles, and Arthur, and my dear guardian, Sir Richard, are free of him, and at rest-better that you were with them than that you bide here in the clutches of this miscreant. Your pretensions are a menace to his title and possessions; you have assaulted him in his own house-you are ruined if you stay. Go-do not hesitate. If you lack money, take this purse, I beg of you, and bribe the servants to let you pass. Oh, be warned, poor soul, and escape while you may."
Miles declined the purse with a gesture, and rose up and stood before her.
"Grant me one thing," he said. "Let your eyes rest upon mine, so that I may see if they be steady. There-now answer me. Am I Miles Hendon?"
"No. I know you not."
"Swear it!"
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