She went up on deck, moving dazedly, with a strange sense of unreality upon her, as if she had somehow wandered into a cold, dim world of dreams.
The firing had ceased, and the yacht was no longer in motion. The confused whirlwind of brain-shaking events which revolved in her memory might now have been a part of the dream in which she was still entangled. The Countess de Mattos's beautiful eyes swept the moon-drenched scene for enlightenment, but none came.
They were not now in the harbour, that alone was clear; but land was close, and black horns of rock stood up out of the shining water as if they had broken through a great sheet of looking-glass. Across this bright, mirror-like surface a small boat was being quickly rowed towardthe yacht. It was very near now, and several dark figures could be distinguished in it besides those of the four rowers. Another boat, much larger, with more than twice the number of oars, swiftly rising and falling, was hurrying away in the direction of a high, rocky point on the island itself.
A chill premonition of evil fell upon the woman's soul. It was like a heavy nightmare weight that might only be felt, not seen, and could not be shaken off. But the Countess de Mattos had experienced this undefinable misery before, when the reaction came after taking too large a dose of chlorodyne with her "solace." She hoped that it was merely this now—that it was no real warning of trouble or threatening danger.
Virginia stood talking to Dr. Grayle and gazing eagerly toward the advancing boat. The Countess de Mattos glanced at the two wistfully, longing to go to them and ask questions. Yet something seemed to hold her back. It was as if a whisper in her ear advised that there were things it was better not to know. This was ridiculous, of course. It was always moreprudent to know about disagreeable things before they could happen, and then sometimes they could be prevented, or at least staved off till one was more prepared to grapple with them. But all the beautiful woman's prudence was in abeyance to-night. The quality had not been born in her, but acquired; which can never be the same.
She felt weak and unnerved, with a great longing to cling to some one stronger and wiser than herself. But there was no such person at hand for her. These others had their own interests. If they really cared for her at all it was because she was ornamental, a thing of beauty which it is pleasant to have within sight; and usually it was very convenient to the Countess de Mattos to be considered thus. Indeed, most of the luxuries which she loved so much more dearly than the necessities of life came through her distinct value as an ornament. But now what was ordinarily enough for her failed to satisfy. She felt horribly alone in the world, as if she had slipped upon some terrible ledge of rock overhanging a sheer precipice, and there was noone—no one on earth to help her back to safety. Tears of self-pity rose hot in her eyes as she stood, not far from Virginia and the doctor, hesitating what to do.
They were so absorbed in watching the approach of the boat that they were unconscious of her presence, and suddenly it began to fascinate the Countess de Mattos also, as if it were one of the discs which hypnotists give to their patients. She, too, bent over the rail and gazed at the boat as the rowers brought it nearer and nearer, but she could not see the faces of its occupants. For three or four minutes she stood thus, and then the boat was under the yacht's side and the men were coming up the ladder.
The Countess moved nearer to Virginia and Dr. Grayle. She no longer intended—for the moment at least—to catechize them, but it occurred to her that, by merely standing within earshot while the others exchanged questions and answers, the mystery of this night's alarming work would be explained to her. Without being seen by her hostess or the little doctor, she was so close now that the trailing silk andlace of herrobe de chambrewas blown by the light breeze against Virginia's white dress.
"Thank heaven—thank heaven!" she heard the girl exclaim as some one came on board. The pair in front of her crowded so closely toward this person that she could not see who it was, and could only suppose that it must be Sir Roger Broom or George Trent returning from some strange adventure. Then, suddenly, she saw the newcomer's face, with the moon shining full upon it, chiselling it into the perfection of a marble masterpiece of old, thrown up by the sea from some long engulfed palace.
She stared, incredulous, her breath in abeyance, her heart stopped like a jarred clock. Then, over Virginia's shoulder, a pair of dark eyes found hers—eyes darkened with tragedy while youth and joy should still have shone in their untroubled depths.
Ah, the awfulness of that instant, the ghastly horror of it! Something in the woman's brain seemed to snap, and, with a loud shriek that cut the new-fallen silence as a jagged knife-blade of lightning cuts the sky, she threw out her handsto shut away the sight and fell backward, fainting. Virginia turned, and knew that her great moment had come.
When the Countess de Mattos came to herself she awoke gazing straight upward at the stars, which danced a strange, whirling measure as the horizon rose and dipped with the swift forging of the yacht. She was lying on the deck, her head supported on something low and soft, and Dr. Grayle bent over her, kneeling on one knee.
"All right again?" he inquired cheerfully, in his blunt way.
She did not answer, for with desperate haste she was collecting her thoughts, linking together broken impressions. An awful thing had happened. What? she asked herself. Then suddenly the vision flashed back to her, and she shuddered. Lowering her lids, so that the thick, black fringe of lashes veiled her eyes, she glanced anxiously about. Had it been a vision and no more, or was it real, and should she have to meet those accusing eyes again? As she debated thus Virginia stepped forward.
"I think, Countess, that you will do now," said Dr. Grayle. "There is a wounded man below who needs my services, but refused them until you should have recovered."
"Oh, go—go!" murmured his patient in irritable weakness.
The little doctor got up, and as he walked quickly away Virginia took his place.
"Can I do anything for you?" she asked.
The Countess shook her head. Her face looked lined and haggard, despite its beauty, in the bleaching light of the moon, and Virginia was almost sorry for her. She could afford to pity the woman now, she thought, for she had triumphed. Her case was proved beyond all doubt, and even Roger, who had heard the scream of recognition and witnessed the fainting fit, could no longer deny that the Countess de Mattos and Liane Devereux were one. Virginia would not strike a blow at a fallen enemy, and, holding this woman in the hollow of her hand, as she believed she did, she was ready to give such help as could be given without injuring the cause she served.
"Wouldn't you like to go back to your stateroom?" she went on. "You have had a great shock, and——"
The Countess sat up quickly, pushing her disordered hair away from her eyes. "I don't know what you mean by a shock," she said, "unless you refer to the terrible cannonading. That was enough, I should think, to frighten the bravest. No wonder I fainted. And then, seeing that ghastly man, dressed like aforçat, all dripping wet, and stained red with blood, was the last drop in the cup of fear. I cannot think what horrors have been happening to-night."
All Virginia's pity was swept away. Her heart hardened toward this tiger-woman.
"Cannot you think?" she echoed bitterly. "Then I will tell you. We have been rescuing an innocent man, who for years has suffered untold miseries for a crime never committed. Thank heaven that his sufferings are ended at last, for we have him on board this yacht, which is carrying him away from New Caledonia at about twenty knots an hour, and we have theproof with us which will establish his innocence before many days have passed."
"It is a crime for aforçatto evade his prison—a crime to aid him," cried the Countess.
"We are not afraid of the punishment," said Virginia, hot, indignant blood springing to her cheeks. "Weare ready to face the consequences of our own actions."
The emphasis was an accusation, but the Countess de Mattos did not wince under the lash. Even a coward may be brave in a hand-to-hand fight for life; and it was only physically that she was a coward.
"You are courageous," she said, almost wholly mistress of herself now, "and, of course, you know your own affairs best, dear girl. But I am not so brave. This awful night has tried me severely, and has come near to spoiling our so pleasant trip. It has sickened me of the sea and of yachting. I shall beg to be landed as soon as convenient to you."
"It will be convenient to us when you have confessed everything in writing," Virginia flung at her, stung into mercilessness by the woman'sbrazen defiance. "Then, and not before, you may leave this yacht."
The Countess de Mattos arose from her lowly place as gracefully and with as much dignity as such an act could be performed. While she sat on the floor and Virginia towered over her, the enemy had too much advantage of position. The two were of one height, and, standing, they faced each other like contending goddesses.
"You speak in riddles," said the elder woman.
"Riddles to which you have the key."
"I do not know what you mean, except that it seems to me it is your intention to be insolent."
"In your code, perhaps, honesty is insolence. But I do not wish to forget that, in a way, you are my guest. I asked you to come for a purpose, I admit; yet——"
"Ah! you admit that. Possibly you will condescend to inform me what your purpose was?"
"My purpose was to make assurance doubly sure. To-night I have done this."
"Evidently you do not wish me to understand you."
"Say, rather, you do not wish to understandme. I think you must do so, in spite of yourself; but lest you should not, I will tell you. I suspected that you were the woman whom Maxime Dalahaide was accused of murdering. Now Iknowthat you are not the Countess de Mattos, but Liane Devereux!"
The woman's green-gray eyes were like steel in the moonlight. "Maxime Dalahaide; Liane Devereux," she slowly repeated. "I never heard these names."
Virginia was struck dumb by the other's effrontery, almost frightened by it. If this terrible creature withdrew into a brazen fortress of lies, who could tell how long a siege she might be able to withstand? The girl had been astonished and dismayed in the morning, when the first sally of the attack had failed; but then her strongest forces, her most deadly weapons, had been still in reserve. Now they had been brought against the enemy's defenses and—the walls had not fallen; there was no sign of capitulation. A cold misgiving began to stir in Virginia's mind. Would it mean failure if the Countess de Mattos obstinately refused to tell the truth?
After all, she was only a girl, opposed to a woman whose varied experience of thirty years or more had endowed her with infinite resource. Virginia's stricken silence gave the other a new advantage.
"As you have said yourself," icily began the Countess once more, "you are my hostess. You flattered me; you made me think that you were my friend; you asked me on board your yacht, and I came, trustingly, ignorant that, under some wild mistake which even now I do not comprehend, you plotted my betrayal. Why, it was a Judas act!"
"If I did evil, I did it that good might come," said poor Virginia. "And itshallcome. You are Liane Devereux.Youwere guilty of the 'Judas act.' Maxime Dalahaide loved you; and with what motive I don't yet know, but mean to know, you betrayed him to a fate worse than death. For that you deserve anything. Yes, I kidnapped you. That's what Roger called it, and I don't repent now. You are here on this yacht with Maxime Dalahaide, and we are on the open sea. Unless you jump overboard, youcannot get away from your atonement. Atonement—that is the word. Oh, woman, woman—if youarea woman and not a stone, think what atonement would mean for you! You must have had terrible moments, living with remembrances like yours—a man who loved you sent to a living grave. Now it is in your power to make up to him—ever so little, perhaps, but a thousand times better than nothing—for the wrong you did. Do this—do it, and be thankful all the rest of your life for the blessed chance which heaven has sent you."
The Countess laughed. "You change your tone suddenly—from threats to an appeal. You would make quite a good preacher, but your eloquence can have no effect on my conscience, as I have not the remotest idea what you are talking about. I had let myself grow fond of you, and I was grateful for all these lazy, pleasant weeks, and for the money you lent me; but now that I know what was underneath your seeming kindness I am no more grateful, and I shall do my best to punish you for the wicked trick you have played upon me. As for attempting toprove that I am—what name did you give the woman?—well, anybody except myself, you will find it impossible. I have powerful friends who would travel far to save me from any trouble. You cannot keep me a prisoner on board this yacht. You must touch again at land before long, and then I shall go away and tell every one what has happened on yourBella Cuba."
"We shall see," said Virginia.
"Weshallsee," echoed the Countess. "And now I am going to my stateroom. Perhaps I may hope to be free from persecution there."
She swept away, looking gorgeously beautiful, and as proud as a queen bent on holding her crown against the people's will.
Virginia stood still, watching her; and when the tall, stately figure had disappeared, a crushing sense of defeat fell upon the girl.
Only a few moments ago, as time counted, she had felt that, with Maxime Dalahaide's rescue, she had every wish of her heart fulfilled. But now she saw the position of affairs with changed eyes. It was as different as a flower-decked ballroom seen by the light of a thousand glitteringcandles, and again by sunrise when the candles had burnt down and the flowers faded.
Maxime was out of prison; there was that, at all events, to be thankful for, and there was nothing at New Caledonia which could even attempt to give chase to the wicked littleBella Cuba. Nevertheless, the French Government had a long arm, and would not quietly let a convict sentenced for life be snatched away without making a grab to get him back again. Virginia had known this from the first, but when Roger had pointed the fact out to her as one of the difficulties to be encountered, she had said in the beginning: "If we have the luck to rescue him we shall have the luck to hide him," and afterward, when she had seen the Countess de Mattos at Cairo, she had amended the prophecy by saying: "If they catch us we shall be able to prove his innocence."
It had all seemed very simple, and she had been impatient with Roger for bringing up so many discouraging objections to her impulsively formed plans. He had gone in with them at last, without, however, pretending to be convinced, andshe had bribed him with a virtual promise of marriage. He had done all that she had asked of him, and more; and she would have to keep her promise, but—had she accomplished enough that was good for Maxime, to pay for the sacrifice? It would be a sacrifice—a greater one than she had known at first, greater than, somehow, she had realized until to-day. She must pay the price; and Maxime—what of him?
If his innocence could not be proved, through the dead woman miraculously come alive, he could never, at best, go back to France; and as the crime of which he was accused came under the extradition treaty, he would be safe nowhere. He must—as he himself had said—lead "a hunted life," wherever he might be. Neither money, nor influence, nor yearning sister-love, nor—the love of friends who would give their heart's blood to save him, could shield Maxime Dalahaide from the sword of Damocles, ever suspended, ever ready to fall.
When the Marchese Loria received Lady Gardiner's telegram from Sydney, he wasstunned. "Leaving here to-morrow," the message ran; "destination unknown."
Unknown to her the destination might be, but it was not unknown to him. He was almost as sure that theBella Cubawas bound for New Caledonia, as if Dr. Grayle had allowed Kate Gardiner to send her desired word from prison-land; and although he had constantly assured himself that if Virginia did go there it could do no harm, now that he was morally certain she would go, he quivered with vague apprehension.
At first, he could not force his mind to concentrate itself upon the intricacies of the situation. He walked up and down his room, like a caged animal, trying to think how, if it were by moving heaven and earth, he could prevent Virginia Beverly and the convict Max Dalahaide from coming together. Then, with the thought that they might meet seething in his head, he would stop abruptly and say to himself, as he had said so often before: "Nonsense; you are a fool. They cannot come together. There is everything against it." Still, the root of fear was there, and grew again as soon as burned away.
If he chose, he might send a warning to the prison authorities at New Caledonia. He could say that theBella Cubawas a suspicious craft, and ought not to be allowed in the harbour for a single hour. But to do this, he would be obliged either to proceed to Paris and give satisfactory reasons why such proceedings should be taken, or wire the warning message himself, signing his own name. No other method would be of any avail, as the governor of the prison would pay no attention to an anonymous telegram, and there was now no time to write a letter. He would be obliged also to assert positively that he knew theBella Cuba'serrand to be treacherous; and, whether he went to Paris, or telegraphed, through Sydney, to New Caledonia, in either case Virginia was certain to find out, later, what he had done. Such secrets could not be successfully hidden, and she would hate him for his interference. If there was little hope for him now, there would be none then.
When his wits began to work he regarded the situation from all points of view. He admittedthe remote—extremely remote—possibility that the party on theBella Cubamight actually contemplate a rescue. He would almost have been ready to stake his life that, if such an attempt were made, it would fail ignominiously, with disaster to all concerned—perhaps death to more than one. But—itmightsucceed. If it did, what would happen?
They would not dare to put back to Sydney Heads. The yacht must be coaled and provisioned somewhere. He consulted maps, and saw that the most likely place for theBella Cubato proceed on leaving New Caledonia was Samoa. It seemed to him that she must go there, in any case.
Loria did not wish to appear as an active enemy of Maxime Dalahaide's. It was largely owing to his efforts on the prisoner's behalf that Max had been saved from the guillotine, and all the Dalahaides must have known that. Virginia, no doubt, knew it too. But what was to be done, if he were not to fling aside the cloak of his reputation as a friend of that unfortunate family? The spirit of high romance ran inVirginia Beverly's blood. She was capable of marrying an escaped prisoner, and sharing his miserable, hunted existence. Such a thing must not be. Loria felt that it would be less bearable to lose her through Max Dalahaide than through any other man. He would rather see her Roger Broom's wife than Maxime's, but he had not yet given up all hope of having her for his own.
He would have just time to go to Samoa and meet theBella Cubathere, if he started at once. The yacht would not leave Sydney Heads till next day, according to the news in the telegram. Then it would take her ten days more to reach New Caledonia. There she was sure to remain for some hours, at the very least. If he, Loria, caught a certain "greyhound of the sea" which was sailing from Cherbourg for New York the following morning, took a fast express from New York for San Francisco, and then sailed immediately for Samoa, he could not fail to be in time for theBella Cuba. But the important thing was to find an excuse to account for his being there when theBella Cubaarrived.
He was not, luckily for his present plan, supposed to know for what parts the yacht had been bound; therefore, if he went to Samoa to visit his friend the French Consul, who had once really invited him to do so, even Virginia need not suspect his motive. His opportune appearance might pass merely as a rather odd coincidence.
If theBella Cubatook away a fugitive on board, the authorities at New Caledonia would not remain idle. They would at once wire to Sydney of a convict's escape, and the telegram would be sent on to Samoa from there. A description of the yacht would be given, and inquiries would be made. But those inquiries! It was because of them that Loria was ready to make so strong an effort to be there in time. Without him, the fugitive from justice might be allowed to escape, despite the extradition treaty. With him, Loria thought that he saw a way to make the detention of the prisoner sure, and that without showing the hand he played.
He had not lost many hours in indecision. As soon as he had made up his mind what to do, he wired to find out if there were still a berth to behad on board the New York bound ship sailing from Cherbourg next day. Even if he had been forced to travel in the steerage he would have gone, though he keenly disliked physical hardships; but he was fortunate, and obtained a good cabin for himself. As soon as this matter was arranged he left for Cherbourg; and next day, on board his ship, gazing across the tumbled gray expanse of sea, he thought of Virginia on her little yacht, and smiled. About this time, perhaps, theBella Cubawas steaming boldly from Sydney Heads, bound for New Caledonia—on what strange, desperate errand, who could tell? The girl's heart was beating high with hope, no doubt. How little she guessed that, half across the world, a man was setting forth to defeat her plans, even if they attained success!
The Marchese Loria had always been lucky in games of chance. In this biggest game of all Fortune still stood behind him and, with a guiding finger, pointed out the cards to play.
There were no delays in his programme. His ship arrived in port precisely at the appointed hour. He was able to go on immediately to San Francisco. There he was just in time to catch a boat for Samoa. He wired to his friend, Monsieur de Letz, the French Consul, that he was coming, and received an enthusiastic welcome. The Consul was a bachelor, approaching middle age, was intensely bored with the monotony of life on an island of the Pacific, and was ravished with the chance of entertaining a personage so brilliant in the great far-away world as the Marchese Loria. Hehad a charming house, and a good cook; some wine also, and cigars of the best. Loria arrived at dinner-time, and afterward, smoking and talking in the moonlight on a broad verandah, the guest led up to the question he was half dying to ask.
"Have you heard any exciting news lately?" he airily inquired, in a tone that hovered between pleasantry and mystery.
"Does one ever hear exciting news in this place?" groaned the French Consul. "Nothing has happened for years. Nothing is ever likely to happen again now that we have become so dull and peaceful here."
"No news of another visitor?"
"Another visitor?"
"A gentleman from New Caledonia."
"Mon Dieu!How did you know that?"
"Is it then so difficult to know,mon ami?"
"One hopes so. It is not good that these things should leak out and reach the public ear. The information is very private. The authorities at home and abroad do all they can to keep it dark, and yet it seems——"
"My ear isn't exactly the 'public ear,' as I'll presently explain. But it is a fact, then, that a convict has escaped from the Ile Nou, and you have got word that he is likely to turn up here on board a steam yacht?"
"It is a fact. I see you have the whole story. But how did you get it?"
"I'll tell you that later. First, just a question or two, if you don't mind, for I happen to be interested in the affair. How long ago did the fellow get away—or rather, when may the yacht, theBella Cuba, be expected here, if at all?"
"She might come in to-morrow."
Loria gave a long sigh. He was lying back in a big easy-chair and sending out ring after ring of blue smoke, which he watched, as they disappeared, with half-shut eyes. One would have fancied him the embodiment of happy laziness, unless one had chanced to notice the tension of the fingers which grasped an arm of the chair.
"What will happen when she does come in?"
"Oh, trouble for me, and nothing to show for it."
"What do you mean?"—with a sudden change of tone.
"All I could do, I have done; which is to inform the Government authorities here that on board the expected yacht is a runawayforçatbelonging to France, and ask that he be arrested on the yacht's arrival."
"And then?"
"Then a boat will go out to meet thisBella Cubaas she comes into the harbour, and she will be requested to give up the man. Her people will say that there's no such person there, and refuse to let any one on board."
"But surely you could detain the yacht and search? TheBella Cubacomes from Sydney and New Caledonia. If you had reason to believe that there was a case of plague on board, for instance, the yacht would be quarantined."
"Yes; but if she were detained, and the convict found on board, he couldn't be identified by any one here. There has been no time for a photograph to arrive from New Caledonia. He won't be dressed like a convict; his hair will have grown. I have only the description telegraphed.His friends will take care he doesn't answer to that. Even if the Government fellows here had any pluck and wanted to attempt an arrest they wouldn't dare, with no one to identify theforçat. You see, the yacht will be flying the English or American flag, and so——"
"I can identify him."
"You? There is a mystery then. I scented it at your first words."
"Scarcely a mystery. You have been very good to answer my questions. Answer one more now, and I'll explain everything. Suppose I can put you in the way of identifying this man, without chance of error; suppose I can put you up to a trick for detaining the yacht, is there any hope, if I proved to you it would be for your own advantage, as well as of everybody else concerned, that you could have the man arrested, and sent back where he deserves to be?"
The Frenchman hesitated. Then he said slowly, and more gravely than he had yet spoken: "Yes, I think I could."
"That is well, for he is a fiend in human shape, not fit to be at large. Worse than all,if he escapes, he is almost certain to ruin the life of the woman I love, and end my hopes of winning her."
"Mon Dieu!We must send him back to New Caledonia, to spend the rest of his life in the Black Cell!" enthusiastically exclaimed De Letz. "But my curiosity is on the stretch. A moment more unsatisfied, and it snaps."
"It shall be satisfied on the instant. I'll tell you the story in as few words as may be. You remember the crime committed by this fellow—for of course you know that, before he was Convict 1280, he was Maxime Dalahaide?"
"I know that. I know he is a murderer. But it is eight years, you must recollect, since I was in France, long before the thing happened. I took no particular interest in the crime, as I had never met the Dalahaides. He killed a woman: so much I recall. You were acquainted with him, I suppose?"
"To my sorrow. I thought he was my friend. He was a traitor. I cared for his sister. She loved and would have married me; but because I knew too much about him and his evil ways,he did not want me in the family. He told the girl and her parents lies. They believed them and sent me away. He borrowed huge sums of money of me, and never paid—never meant to pay. Always he was my secret enemy, yet when the world knew he was a murderer I strained every nerve to save his life, for his sister's sake. I did save it. But for every one concerned it was better that he should be removed where he could no longer strike at society, and I could scarcely regret his fate. Four years passed; I loved again, this time a beautiful American girl, the most perfect creature I have ever seen, and a great heiress. Madeleine Dalahaide had learned to detest me. She prejudiced this girl against me, and, not satisfied with that, excited her romantic nature to sympathy for the murderer, as a victim of injustice. TheBella Cubais this girl's yacht—Miss Beverly's. She bought it in the hope of rescuing Maxime Dalahaide, and if he can escape, there is little doubt that she will put her hand in his, red though it is with a detestable crime. She must be saved from so ghastly afate. But if she learns that she owes the failure of her plans to me, she will hate me to the death, and I shall lose all hope of her; whereas, if my agency in this affair could be hidden from her knowledge, the chances are that, if I could keep my head, I might win back her heart, after it is healed from its first disappointment. Help me to accomplish this, De Letz, for the sake of old times, and there's nothing you can ask of me that I will not do. Italian though I am, you know that my French cousins have powerful political influence. They shall use it to the utmost for you, and get you what post you please. I promise it—and I never break a promise to a friend."
"You fire me with your own enthusiasm!" cried De Letz. "We shall work the thing between us. But if you, and you alone, can identify this man, how will your part in the business be kept dark?"
"I will tell you how. I have brought several photographs of him, which I have always kept within reach. These I will give to you, and you can use them. If possible, I should, however,like to appear, not in the character of an enemy, but that of a friend. You may think this a low way of playing the game; but, you know, 'all is fair in love and war.' I want Miss Beverly to think I am here at this time by chance; that I have tried to soften your heart toward Dalahaide, and that I come with you, not as your ally against her, but to offer her and her cause what help I can. Of course, I shall fail in that effort, and you will win; but the little comedy will have brought me the girl's gratitude, which is worth all the world at this ticklish stage of the game. Will you aid me to play the part on these lines?"
De Letz laughed. "So, I am to be the villain of the piece? Well, I do not mind. We will stage the play realistically, and I——"
"And you will never regret your rôle in it," returned Loria.
Before theBella Cubaleft Mentone all probable contingencies of the mission had been foreseen, and as far as possible provided for,by Roger Broom, George Trent, and Virginia Beverly, in council. They had talked over what must be done in case of failure or success, and the only event which Virginia had not felt able to discuss had been the death of one or more of the three men concerned in the rescue. They knew that, if theBella Cubashould be lucky enough to get away from New Caledonia with Max Dalahaide on board, the news of the convict's escape would certainly reach the next port at which they must touch, before they could arrive there. Virginia's hope had been, after meeting the Countess de Mattos, that the woman's confession would exculpate Maxime, and that the peace of his future would be secured by the greatcoupof "kidnapping" her. But now this glimpse of brightness seemed likely to prove a mirage. Virginia was as sure as ever that Manuela de Mattos was Liane Devereux; even Roger Broom's contrary opinion had been somewhat shaken by the woman's horrified shriek at sight of Max Dalahaide's white face and tragic eyes in the moonlight. But the Countess had hardened once more into marbleself-control, and Maxime, after an hour or two on board the yacht, had fallen into a state of fever and delirium. For the time being he could do nothing to assist in proving her identity; indeed, even if he had kept his senses, he might not have been able to swear that she was Liane Devereux, so many were the differences of personality. Months might have to pass before the truth of the strange conjecture could be proved—if it could ever be proved—while the Countess de Mattos remained entrenched in her strong position as a much injured and innocent lady.
They could not count upon her, and were forced to rely wholly upon the plan formed before the beautiful Manuela had entered into their calculations. On reaching Samoa it was to be, as George Trent expressed it, a "game of bluff." One hope of saving Max lay in the fact that no photograph of him could have arrived from New Caledonia; there were a hundred chances to one that there would be no one at Samoa who had ever seen him; he could not, therefore, be positively identified, and as theBella Cuba, owned by an American girl, flew the stars and stripes, it was not likely that the authorities would care to invite trouble by attempting to detain a yacht sailing under American colours. It was well known to the initiated also, that successful "evasions" from the French penal settlements were hushed up with nervous caution whenever possible and that the news of even an attempted escape was seldom printed in French papers. This was another advantage for the guiltyBella Cuba. It might be considered better to let one convict go free, than precipitate an international complication, a world-wide sensation, especially as there was no one with a personal interest to serve in recovering this particular prisoner.
They steamed boldly on toward Samoa. The morning that the island was sighted, Dr. Grayle had pronounced Max Dalahaide better. The delirium had passed. He was quiet, though still very weak.
"I suppose he wouldn't be able to confront that wicked woman and accuse her to her face?" asked Virginia of the little brown man.
Dr. Grayle shook his head. "Not yet," he said. "Our motto must be forward, but not too fast. He isn't fit yet for any strong excitement, since we don't want to risk a relapse now that he's getting on so well. I was rather afraid the sight of all those souvenirs of the past in his cabin would upset him when he should be in a state of mind to recognize them, but the effect has apparently been precisely opposite. At first, before he entirely realized things, and remembered where he was and how he had got there, he seemed to think that he was at home, and was continually talking to his mother or sister, or calling for his father, sometimes in English, sometimes in French. Now he knows all, and when he heard how it was your thought and his sister's to have so many familiar objects surrounding him, to give an atmosphere of home to the cabin prepared in case of a rescue, the tears came to his eyes, and he turned away his head on the pillow to hide them from me. He believes that, even in his unconsciousness, these things must have made an impression upon his mind, and bytheir soothing influence drawn his thought toward home, otherwise he must have raved about the prison in his delirium, instead of returning to old, happy days. So you see, Miss Beverly, he has one more reason to thank you, this poor fellow who has suffered so much, and kept so brave and strong through all."
Virginia had been pale of late, but she flushed at these words. "You believe him innocent, Dr. Grayle!" she exclaimed. "You wouldn't speak of him like that unless it were so."
"No one could have been with him as I have these past few days, and not believe him innocent," said the little doctor in his quiet voice. "Sir Roger thinks as I do, too, now. You will be glad to hear that."
"I am glad," Virginia answered. But Roger was not glad. Above all things he was just—sometimes in spite of himself. He had helped to nurse Max Dalahaide; he had changed his opinion of him, and felt bound to say so; yet he was not glad to change. He would have preferred to go on believing Dalahaide a guilty man.
Virginia had not the key to Roger's heart, however, and she did not know that he had the key to hers—to one hidden place there into which she had hardly dared to look. She would have kept it always locked, even from herself, if she could; but because she knew that there was something there to hide, she invited Roger to go with her when Max sent word through Dr. Grayle, begging to see his hostess. She did not want Roger to be present when she talked with Maxime Dalahaide for the first time since his escape. She would have liked to be alone with him, if that had been possible; but for the very reason that the wish was so strong in her heart, she denied it. Her cousin Roger had risked his life to please her, and she had a promise to keep. She meant to keep it; and he had a right to be by her side when she went to the man whom he had so nobly helped to save.
But Roger refused. "No, dear," he said. "Soon we shall be in the harbour at Samoa. There is plenty to do. I want to be on hand with George to do it. Let Dr. Grayle take youto Maxime. He will know how long and how much it is best for him to talk."
"We will be in harbour so soon?" exclaimed Virginia. "The Countess! She will try to get away, you know."
"She'll try in vain," responded Roger. "We won't give her a boat."
"But there'll be ships and boats in the harbour. She may call for help, and make us trouble."
"I'll see to her," said Roger. "I don't think we shall get much good out of detaining her; but we've gone so far now, we may as well go a little further."
They were talking in the saloon, out of which the cabins opened, but they had spoken in low voices, guarding against being overheard. Nor could they have been overheard, unless by some one making a special effort to listen. Such an effort the Countess de Mattos was making. She had kept to her cabin since the eventful night of the escape from New Caledonia, and had demanded her meals and other attentions with the air of an insulted queen claiming herjust rights. She always bent herself eagerly to listen when she heard the murmur of voices in the saloon, especially if they seemed to be suppressed. She did not now catch every word, but she heard "the harbour of Samoa"; "soon in"; "the Countess—try to get away"; "call for help—make us trouble"; "I'll see to her"; and she pressed her lips together in fierce anger, her delicate nostrils quivering.
From her porthole she had not seen the land in sight, and had had no means of knowing that the time for her to act was so near at hand. Since the night of her terrible shock, she had revolved many plans in her mind, but the only one upon which she had definitely decided was to leave theBella Cubaat all costs, and as soon as possible. Her nerves were not in a state to stand an indefinite strain, and she realized that she could not bear much more. Even with the chlorodyne and absinthe she hardly slept now, and she scarcely cared to project her thoughts beyond the time of escape from the hateful yacht.
Now, she had one thing for which to thankVirginia Beverly; the suggestion that she should call for help when theBella Cubahad steamed into the harbour of Samoa. At once her excitable brain seized the picturesqueness of a dramatic situation. She saw herself, effectively dressed, rushing to the rail and hailing any passing ship which might be nearest. Sir Roger Broom, or her late friend George Trent, might try to stop her, but their violence would be seen from some other ship, and her cause against them would be strengthened.
Surely her appeals would not be ignored; men, of whatever class or country, were never blind to the distress of a woman as beautiful as she. Yes, she would be rescued. The story that she would tell must rouse indignation against Virginia Beverly and her companions. She herself had nothing to fear—nothing. And the man on whose advice she had spent years of exile would admire her more than ever, when he knew what she had endured, without breaking down. The end of her probation had come. The reason for delay had disappeared now, after all these years. Theywould marry, he and she, and he would help her to forget the past.
Manuela's reflections did not cause her to waste time. They were a mere accompaniment to her rapid action. Virginia had said they would soon be in the harbour. She must prepare herself to leave the yacht, and get ready to carry with her such things as were indispensable. Hurriedly she threw off therobe de chambreof silk and lace which she had been wearing, and put on a charming dress, suitable for travelling. The long outstanding account for thisconfectionhad been paid with Virginia Beverly's money; but that was a detail.
When she was ready to go up on deck—which she would do as soon as the yacht dropped anchor—she took her jewels from the large leather box where they were kept, and wrapping everything in a soft silk scarf, she stuffed the thick parcel into a handbag, which already held several mysterious-looking bottles with the labels carefully taken off. This bag was always locked, except when the Countess was at her toilet; then, for a brief time, the bottles came out,and a few tiny boxes and brushes; but she never forgot to put them back into the bag again, turn the key, and slip the latter on to the gold key-ring which she wore on her chatelaine.
The bag packed with jewels, as well as its legitimate contents, Manuela turned her attention to the larger luggage. This she could not carry away with her, if she were gallantly rescued from her sea-prison by acoup d'état; but it would be as well to have the things which she most valued ready to go later. She had filled her cabin-box, and was in the act of locking it, when the yacht's screw ceased to throb. TheBella Cubahad stopped. Orders were being shouted up above; and then came a grinding sound as the anchor was slowly dropped. The Countess de Mattos knew that they must be in the harbour of Samoa. She flung open the door of her cabin and stepped out into the saloon. There sat George Trent, who, as she appeared, looked up from a book which he was reading, or seemed to read.
"Good morning, Countess," he said coolly, rising and flinging away his book. "I'm gladyou're better, but I don't think, now I see you in the light, that you look well enough to be out."
"I was never ill," she answered haughtily—for Virginia Beverly's brother could only be an enemy.
"It's mighty brave of you to try and keep up like this," said George, "but that was a bad attack of yours the other night. I can see you're not fit yet. You'd better go back and lie down while we coal. The blacks will be flying around, you know, and you'll get them in your lungs."
"Let me pass," exclaimed the Countess, making a rush to push by him and reach the companionway.
"I'd do a good deal for you, Countess, but I can't do that," retorted George. "It's against the doctor's orders."
"How dare you!" she panted. "Oh, you shall suffer for this!"
"All I'm worried about now is thatyoudon't suffer. You really mustn't excite yourself. It's not good, you know. It's as much as my placeis worth to let you upstairs. I expect it would be the best thing for your health to go and lie down, but if you won't do that, why, I'll try and entertain you here as well as I can."
The beautiful woman looked the tall young man full in the eyes, hers dilated and burning with the impotent fury in her soul. She was wise enough to see that he was not to be beguiled. If he, like other men, had his price, nothing that she could offer would pay it. He did not mean to let her go up on deck, and it would be as useless as undignified to attempt carrying out her will with a high hand. If there were any hope, it was in stratagem. Without breaking another lance against the impenetrable armour of his obstinacy, she turned her back upon him, swept into her cabin, and shut the door. Having done so—her little bag still grasped in her hand—she flew to the porthole and peered out. If a boat had been passing, or a ship at anchor visible near by, she would have screamed for help; but nothing promising was to be seen for the moment.
Meanwhile, Virginia had spent the mostheavenly half-hour of her life. She had been so divinely happy that she had forgotten the danger ahead. To sit beside Max Dalahaide, to meet his eyes, tragic no longer, but bright with passionate gratitude; to know that he was out of danger, that he would live, and owe his life to her and hers; to hear the thanks, spoken stammeringly, but straight from his heart, filled her with an ecstasy such as she had never known. It was akin to pain, and yet it was worth dying for, just to have felt it once.
She was with him still when the yacht dropped anchor.
"This is Samoa?" he said, half rising on his elbow, and a quick flush springing to his thin cheeks.
"Yes," Virginia answered. "But there is no danger. My cousin says they will dare nothing. We shall have coaled in a couple of hours, and then——"
At this moment a sound of voices came through the open porthole, which was on the side of the yacht opposite to Manuela's.
Some one in a boat was calling to some oneon the deck of theBella Cuba; and evidently the boat was near.
Virginia's sentence broke off. She forgot what she had been saying, and sprang to her feet, her heart in her throat. It was the Marchese Loria's voice that she had heard.
What could his presence here signify? Did it mean unexpected disaster? Involuntarily her frightened glance went to Maxime's face. Their eyes met. She saw in his that he, too, had recognized those once familiar tones.
"I will go on deck," she said brokenly, trying to control her voice. "I—when I can I will come back again. And—of course, Dr. Grayle, you will stay here."
"You may trust me," said the little brown man, with meaning in his words.
Roger Broom had seen the boat coming from afar. Already the lighters were alongside, and the process of coaling was about to begin. This would be got through as soon as possible, and necessary provisions bought from the boats plying from the town with fresh milk, butter, eggs, meat, fowls, and green vegetables. But Roger knew well that, expedite their business as they might, theBella Cubawould not steam out of the harbour without a challenge from the law. The only shock of surprise he experienced at sight of the official-looking little craft, making straight for the yacht, was in recognizing the Marchese Loria, the last man he had expected to see.
As he stood on deck beside the quartermaster near the rail, Loria hailed him by name, whilethe boat came alongside, and the four rowers shipped their dripping oars.
"Ah, Sir Roger, you are surprised to see me!" the Marchese cried. "But, by our old friendship, I hope you will let me come on board. These gentlemen in the boat with me are the United States Consul, Mr. Chandler; the French Consul, Monsieur de Letz; and Herr Dr. Sauber, the medical officer for the health of the port."
"Speaking for Miss Beverly as well as myself, we shall be very pleased to see you," said Roger. "Herr Dr. Sauber's business with us it is easy to guess, and he is prompt in carrying it out. Mr. Chandler and Monsieur de Letz are, no doubt, your friends, Marchese, who have come with you to pay us a friendly visit. We shall be delighted to entertain them on board as well as we can during the dreary process of coaling."
"I can't let you receive us on false pretenses, sir," replied the United States Consul. "My business and that of Monsieur de Letz is not wholly friendly, unfortunately, although we are both particularly anxious it should be carried out in a friendly spirit. It is in this hope thatcertain formalities have been waived. It is, as you know, your duty to receive Dr. Sauber on board, and as you fly the American colours it is your duty to receive me as the representative of the authority of the United States."
"Charmed, I'm sure, to see you in any capacity," said Roger, his tone unchanged. "Though what the authority of the United States should have to do in procuring us the pleasure, I——"
"The authority of the United States supports France, as it is bound to do, in accordance with the extradition treaty, in demanding that you give up the fugitive convict, 1280, who came on board your yacht at New Caledonia."
"We have no convict with us," retorted Roger.
"In that case you cannot object to search being made," said Monsieur de Letz.
"We do most certainly object to being insulted," Roger replied. "Mr. Chandler, the owner of this yacht is an American lady, Miss Beverly. I call upon you as her Consul to protect her interests, not to sacrifice them."
"Sir Roger," Loria broke in, before Chandlercould answer, "I beg once more that you will let me come on board with the doctor as a friend. I will explain why, when we can talk together. Though I am with these gentlemen, their errand is not mine."
"The doctor I feel bound to receive," said Roger. "But Miss Beverly, it seems to me, has as much right to choose who her guests shall be on board her own yacht as in her own house. If she were here to speak for herself——"
"She is here to speak for herself," said Virginia, at his shoulder. "Marchese Loria, I invite you to come on board. I invite also the United States Consul, whose protection I claim. But I do not choose to have other guests."
"The health officer has a right to board us, you know, Virginia," said Roger in a loud tone; then close to her ear: "Hang it all! we are more or less at their mercy. We can't get away without coaling, and they know it. Our poor little cannon are of no use to us here. We can't afford to defy any of the powers interested; they've got too many gunboats in the harbour. Bluff is our game, and we've got to play it forall it's worth. But you're perfectly right about the Consul. Only, if you don't want Loria, you needn't——"
"I do want him," Virginia hastily whispered—"for a special reason. And I want to talk to him alone. But for heaven's sake keep the Frenchman off! Who knows whatcouphe may be planning?"
As if in answer, though he could not possibly have heard, De Letz announced from the boat that he did not wish to insist upon boarding the yacht. He would trust his business in Mr. Chandler's hands, since the lady preferred it. This easy-going courtesy alarmed Virginia. She felt instinctively that the enemy had a strong trump with which to confound her unexpectedly. Still, if she did not quite see the enemy's game, at least they could not see hers.
The gangway was let down. Loria, Chandler, and the medical officer of the port came on board. Then the gangway was drawn up, though the French Consul and the four oarsmen sat placidly in the boat.
The purser, who was busy receiving stores, was sent for, to be interviewed by the doctor. Roger, standing by, gave half his attention to the conversation between these two, and half to the United States Consul, who plunged at once into the subject of the escaped convict.
Monsieur de Letz had informed him, he announced, that if the fugitive were not given up to justice by the American yacht, it would be regarded by France as a direct and deliberate affront. Meanwhile, the medical officer bombarded the unfortunate purser with questions. What ports had been visited? Where had the passengers been taken on? None since Alexandria? Humph! Alexandria was considered an infected port at present. Any one ill on board? No? Where, then, were the remaining members of the party? In their cabins? The doctor must ask, as a mere matter of form, to see them.
Roger Broom's lips were suddenly compressed. So this was the game. He saw it all now. The doctor was in the plot. He meant to detain the yacht in quarantine. If he succeeded in doingthis, Maxime Dalahaide was lost. Everything else they had thought of, but not this.
"May I speak with you alone, Miss Beverly?" Loria had begun to plead, the instant he had set foot on deck. "Believe me, it is partly for your own sake, partly for the sake of others whose welfare is dear to you, that I ask it."
It was the thing for which Virginia had been wishing. "Come down with me into the saloon," she said.
"Could we not speak here, at a little distance from the others?" urged Loria, who knew that the doctor intended to visit the cabins.
"It is better below," the girl answered. She was determined to be already in the saloon before the others came down. "Come quickly, and we can talk without being disturbed."
There was nothing for Loria to do but to obey.
They went down the companionway; and George Trent, on guard with his book near the Countess de Mattos's cabin door, jumped up at sight of Loria.
"What, you here, Marchese?" he began.But Virginia cut him short with a look and gesture both imploring and imperative.
"Leave us, George, I beg," she said. "Later, there will be time for explanations."
Without a word, the young man bowed and walked away. But he did not go farther than his cabin. He wished to be at hand if he were needed, as he might be, by and by.
On the other side of the stateroom door stood the Countess, half crouching, like a splendid tigress ready to spring.
"Marchese," George Trent had said. Who was this Marchese? Could it be possible that it was the one man of all others for whom her heart had cried out? Had his soul, in some mysterious, supernatural way, heard her soul calling to him across the world? Had he heard, and come to her here, to save her from her enemies? In another moment she must hear the voice of the newcomer whom George had addressed as "Marchese," and then she would know.
Even as she told herself this, schooling herimpatience, the voice spoke. "Miss Beverly—Virginia," it said brokenly, imploringly, "for the love of heaven don't misjudge me. I came with those men to-day, not to help them, but to help you—if I can. You must know I would give my life to serve you. My life, do I say? I would give my soul. It was in ignorance of what would happen that I visited Samoa. The French Consul is an old school friend. He told me everything—I mean, the news from New Caledonia. He has photographs of Maxime. I tried to get them away, without his knowledge, but I didn't succeed. You must not be embroiled further in this terrible affair. The best thing is for you to give the poor fellow up, and I swear to you that, for your sake, and for his—even though I believe him guilty—I will find some means of saving him. The doctor has been promised all sorts of favours if he will state that there is a suspicious case of illness on board; a stateroom door locked against him will be enough to raise suspicions that you are hiding a case of plague. You can do nothing. Unless you give Maxime up, and it is seen that you have a clean bill of health,you will be detained indefinitely in quarantine. Further advices will arrive from New Caledonia, representations will be made to the authorities here, it will become an international question, and you will be forced to surrender the escaped prisoner. Maxime will then be lost, for I should be unable to help him, if things had gone so far—the hue and cry would be too furious. De Letz is determined to thwart you, but he doesn't know that I am a secret ally of your plans. Trust to me. Give Maxime up while there is time, and you will never repent it."
"You make brave promises, Marchese," returned Virginia. "But you do not name your price. I suppose, like other men, you have a price for what you say you can do?"
"I make no conditions," answered Loria. "It hurts me that you could think of it. All I want is a little gratitude from you—ah, no, I cannot say that is all Iwant. Only, it is all I ask. What I want more than anything on earth, more than anything which even Heaven could give, is the treasure of your love. Forthat, I could fight my way, and Maxime Dalahaide's way, through the place of lost spirits, and laugh at the tortures of Hades. I dare not ask for that treasure now. Give me what you can, that is all, and my life's blood is yours, for I worship you, Virginia. I dream of you night and day. If I cannot have you for my wife, I shall go to my grave unmarried, and the sooner the better. There's nothing but you in the world; no other woman but you; there never has been for me, and never will be."
"It's false!" cried the voice of a woman, husky with passion; and throwing open the door of her cabin, the Countess de Mattos stood on the threshold, not six feet distant from the two in the saloon.
Carried away on the tide of his very real love for Virginia Beverly, whose pale, spiritualized beauty had gone to his head like wine, the hot-blooded Italian was at a disadvantage. Strength had gone out of him in his appeal. Physically and mentally he was spent.
The passionate voice, the flaming eyes of the woman suddenly seen in the doorway, struckhim like a double blow aimed at a drowning man. "Liane!" he cried, before he could regain the self-mastery which meant all the difference between life and death.
"Yes," she flung at him in French, "IamLiane—Liane Devereux. Come, every one, and hear what I have to say. This man is a traitor—traitorous friend and treacherous lover!" She stopped for an instant, and threw a glance round the saloon. Loria and Virginia Beverly were no longer alone there. George Trent, Sir Roger Broom, Kate Gardiner, and two men who were strangers had suddenly appeared as if by a conjuring trick. The woman stood with her head held high, like some magnificent wild creature of the forest at bay, fearing nothing save loss of vengeance. She was glad that all these people had come. The more there were to hear the tale she meant to tell, the more sure the stroke of her revenge. Yes, she was glad, glad! And though she died for it, under the knife of the guillotine, she would ruin the man who had deceived her.
"He pretended to love me," she went on."But now I know that he never did, for when he vowed love and devotion his voice did not once sound as I have heard it now, speaking to that white-faced girl when he did not dream I was near.
"I am Liane Devereux, not a Portuguese woman, not the Countess de Mattos, therefore Maxime Dalahaide is not a murderer, since I live. It was the Marchese Loria who arranged everything—even my name, and credentials, and proofs of my identity as Manuela de Mattos, in case they were ever needed. Oh, there was nothing neglected. But now I know that it was not for my sake, as I thought, but to serve his own ends, and I am willing to die to hold him back from success.
"I will tell you the whole story from the beginning. Five years ago I was an actress in Paris. I made two or three failures. A powerful dramatic critic had vowed to drive me off the stage. He had begun his work; and at this perilous time in my career, just as I had quarrelled with my manager, Maxime Dalahaide fell in love with me. I thought he wasrich. It occurred to me that if I became his wife I could leave the stage in a blaze of glory. Besides, he was brilliant and handsome. I was flattered by his admiration, and felt that it would be easy to love him. I did all I could to win an offer of marriage from him. When it came I accepted. But soon after our engagement his father lost a great deal of money. I realized that Maxime would not be as good a match as I had counted upon making. Still, I did not throw him over; for by that time I cared for his handsome face, and I was of far too jealous a nature to risk throwing him into the arms of another woman. If we parted, I thought I knew to what woman he would turn. There was an English girl singing at the Opera Comique, whose name at one time had been coupled with Maxime Dalahaide's. She had a good voice and a pretty enough face, but she would not have succeeded in Paris, people whispered, if Maxime had not helped her. I had spoken to him of this girl, and he had denied caring for her. She was a very ordinary, uninteresting creature, apart from her beauty,he said; but she had been friendless and in hard luck, and as he was half English himself, he had done what he could to aid a lonely and deserving young countrywoman, that was all. Still, I was never sure that he was not deceiving me. Altogether, in those days, I was unhappy. The Marchese Loria, Maxime's best friend—as I thought—was very sympathetic. He came often to see me, both with Maxime and alone. One day they quarrelled in my house. It was Loria who began it. He accused Maxime of prejudicing his sister Madeleine against him, and Maxime admitted that, though he loved Loria, he did not think he would made a good husband, and did not wish him to marry Madeleine. With a look of jealous hatred in his eyes, which I have never forgotten, Loria cried out that Maxime had always taken away from him everything he wanted most—love of friends and women, popularity, all that a man values in life. Then, almost before Maxime could answer to vow that never, consciously, had he been Loria's rival or injured him in any way, Loria begged forgiveness, said he hadspoken in anger—that in his heart he did not mean a word. So the quarrel—if quarrel you could call it—was made up. But I guessed then that Loria had never really loved Maxime.
"It was only a few days after this that I found myself in great trouble with my creditors. Maxime had had too many losses to help me much, though he lent me two or three thousand francs. I asked him to pawn my jewels, which were worth a good deal, and to do it in his own name. It was Loria who put this idea into my head. He said that by this means I should prevent the pawn-tickets from being seized by other creditors. Late that very afternoon, when, against his will, Maxime had taken my jewels, the English girl, Olive Sinclair, came to my flat, saying that she must talk to me of an affair of great importance to us both. I was curious, and my jealousy was up in arms. She was admitted by my maid, who was just going out for the whole evening, by my permission.
"Olive Sinclair came in. We were alone together in the flat. She began by saying thatshe was going to England by the late boat that night, and that Maxime Dalahaide was going with her. As soon as possible, the girl went on, they would be married at a registrar's office, and the marriage kept secret from his family until she came of age the next year, when she would inherit a fortune, which she should be only too glad to share with her beloved Maxime. She had heard, she said, that I went about boasting everywhere of my engagement to Maxime Dalahaide, and that she could bear it no longer, so she had come to tell me the real truth, and humble my pride. Perhaps I would not have believed her if I had not known that Maximedidintend to go to England that night. He had told me that he wanted to see an uncle there on business. At once his story seemed improbable. I believed that the girl was telling me the truth. I have always had a hot temper, which often escapes beyond control. A wave of rage rushed up to my head, and made a red flame leap before my eyes. As the girl talked on, smiling insolently, I struck her in my passion. She staggered, and fell on the floor, her headpressed up against the fender in a curious way. Dear heaven, I can see her now, lying there, her eyes staring wide open, seeming to look at me, her lips apart! She did not cry out or move; and as I stood watching her, frightened at what I had done, a few drops of blood began to ooze from her mouth.
"I went down on my knees, and shook her by the shoulder, calling her name; but her head fell on one side, as if she had been a horrid dummy made of rags; and still her eyes were staring and her blood-stained lips smiling that foolish, awful smile. It was at this moment that I heard a knocking at the door.
"At first I kept quite still, dazed, not knowing what I should do. But then I thought it might be Maxime, who had changed his mind about selling the jewels, and come back soon to tell me. I was in the mood to see him at whatever cost. I called through the door to know who was there. Loria's voice answered. I let him in, explained confusedly what had happened, and begged him to bring the girl back to consciousness. Five minutes later hetold me that she was dead. In falling, and striking against the fender, she had broken her neck.
"'What is to become of me?' I asked. 'I did not mean to kill her, and yet—I am a murderess. Will they send me to the guillotine for this?'
"'No, because I will save you,' Loria answered. Then, quickly, he made me understand the scheme that had come into his mind. So cunning, so wonderfully thought out it was, that I asked myself if he had somehow planned all that had happened; if he had sent the girl to me, and told her to say what she had said, counting on my hot blood for some such sequel as really followed. But I could not see any motive for such plotting, and in a moment I forgot my strange suspicions, in gratitude for his offer to save me. Sometimes I had fancied that, in spite of his wish to marry Madeleine Dalahaide, he loved me; now he swore to me the truth of this, and I was scarcely surprised. He would give everything he had in the world to save me, he said. What a fool I was to believehim! All I had to do in return was to promise that I would obey implicitly. Gladly I promised, and I did not falter even when the full horror of his plan was revealed. It was that or a disgraceful, terrible death for me. Oh, I would have done anything then to escape the guillotine!