"Put them on," said the Beggar Man once again.
"No." Only a whisper this time.
He stooped and raised her to her feet. He held her arms firmly, so that it was impossible for her to escape him.
"I've tried all ways with you," he said, and his voice sounded a little laboured and difficult. "At least, I hope I have. I've made every allowance for you and tried to be patient. That was my mistake; I should have shown you first of all that I was your master. Faith—look at me!"
She had been standing with her head down-drooping, and he could feel how she trembled, but he did not soften.
"Look at me," he said again, and she looked up.
Her brown eyes met his—kind no longer, only stern and determined—and for a moment neither spoke. But in that silence something seemed to tell Faith how useless was her resistance, how truly he had spoken when he said that he was her master.
Then he let her go and stood back a pace.
"Now are you coming with me?" he asked.