It was a marvel to Carlita ever afterward how she had the strength to drag through the apparently endless hours of that evening, and yet after that outburst of passion there alone under the pitiless stars, she was to all appearances calm as a stoic.

She said good-night to Pierrepont as smilingly as to the others, and even permitted him to clasp her cold fingers for a moment as he took his leave.

"Do tell me everything!" exclaimed Jessica, when they were alone. "I have been feverishly anxious for them to go for two hours, because I knew there was so much that we should wish to talk about."

But she only shook her head and pressed the hand of her Judas wistfully.

"Not tonight," she answered, barely able to keep the sobs out of her voice. "I am nervous and tired. Tomorrow. Wait. You shall know everything then, and you will help me to decide what I am to do."

And Jessica, who knew all that would be told to her on the morrow as well then as she ever could know, put aside her curiosity gracefully.

"Of course, you poor, little tired child!" she exclaimed, soothingly. "I should have had more care for you and have put them out long ago. Come to your room and let me be your maid. I'm going to give you a nice soothing bromide, and tomorrow you will be as good as new."

She would listen to no denial, but dismissed Ahbel, and did not leave her charge until she was well tucked up in bed with the bromide swallowed, then she turned out the light and left the room softly.

Once outside the door, she paused and looked back with a sneering smile.

"You poor little fool!" she muttered. "You poor little fool! I know you already a thousand times better than you know yourself. I could tell you things about the state of your own heart that would surprise you, I fancy. At all events, it is something which you must not suspect until my plot has been worked to the end. Upon my word, matters are shaping themselves to my will better even than if I had planned the circumstances of it all."

But whatever may have been her intention in the matter, her bromide worked to a charm, and the following morning Carlita arose refreshed from a profound sleep. Her cold plunge quite restored her, and she descended to the breakfast-room as bright and beautiful as if nothing had ever marred the serenity of her young life.

After breakfast she and Jessica talked long and earnestly in the privacy of the boudoir, a conversation in which she detailed to Jessica what she had purposely overheard the evening before, and then they conferred upon what course had best be pursued for the carrying out of their plan.

"You see!" exclaimed Jessica, when she had been appealed to for advice, "the conversation which you overheard has proven to you that this man Meriaz can be bought. Now, the question is, are you willing to give more for this information than Pierrepont is for his silence?"

"I would give my fortune to the last farthing!" cried Carlita, excitedly.

"Well, don't be foolish and give that away to Meriaz, or he would be just hog enough to demand it. My own opinion is that he has come down rather light on Pierrepont, and when he has pocketed that five thousand, with no evidence in the hands of Pierrepont that it has been given over, he may be willing to sell his story to you for another five, if you drive your bargain hard, or ten at the outside. It isn't a good plan to squander money on a scoundrel like that when you can prevent it. You say that his appointment with Pierrepont is for twelve?"

"Yes."

"Then I will write asking him to be here at two. It is eleven thirty now," looking at a little Dresden clock upon the mantel-shelf. "If my opinion is worth anything, I should say that you are very nearly at the end of your dilemma, and I certainly think you have gotten out of it very easily."

Carlita did not reply, but sighed wearily. There was no elation in her success, on the contrary her heart ached as it had not done when she had been informed of Olney's death, and a mist stood before her eyes as she sat beside the window that prevented her seeing the objects in the street.

And yet she took the note when Jessica had completed it, and sent it by her own maid to the address upon the envelope.

It seemed to her that the hours would never pass between twelve and two, and yet when the announcement was made to her that Senor Meriaz was awaiting her in the library, she could not go down and face him. She loathed him with a passionate repulsion, and her whole nature rebelled at the interview that must follow, yet she nerved herself to it, and was stately in her calmness as she entered the room where he waited.

"You sent for me, senorita?" he said, bowing to her with the innate politeness of even the lowest Spaniard.

"Miss de Barryos," she corrected, calmly.

"Was I mistaken, or did Miss Chalmers tell me that you also were Mexican?"

"My father was a Mexican, not I. I do not know the country," answered the girl, who but a few short months ago had loved to hear tales of travel there, and had spoken the liquid, musical language with such delight. "I sent for you, Senor Meriaz, upon a most unpleasant errand."

"I can imagine nothing unpleasant connected with—Miss—de Barryos," he answered, watching her shiver curiously.

She took no notice of his words, but continued, even more coldly than before:

"By design, senor, I overheard the conversation between you and Mr. Pierrepont in this room."

"By design, senorita?"

"Yes," she answered, haughtily. "I was a witness of your presentation to him; I saw him motion to you to follow him from the drawing-room, and a moment afterward I followed also. I was behind that portiÈre there when your conversation took place."

"Well, senorita?" he said, coolly.

"I must ask you once more not to call me that."

"I beg your pardon. Custom causes me to use it unaware."

She inclined her head slightly, and continued:

"Senor Meriaz, you are aware, as you informed Mr. Pierrepont in that conversation, that I was the betrothed wife of Mr. Olney Winthrop, five thousand dollars of whose money was paid you today to conceal some secret concerning his death."

She paused, but Meriaz only bowed with profound indifference.

"You must understand," she went on, when she saw that he did not intend to assist her, "how very much interested I am in discovering everything connected with the death of my fiancÉ, and it was to induce you to tell me this secret that I asked Miss Chalmers to send for you today."

"What inducement do you offer, seno—Miss de Barryos?"

She hesitated a moment, then said, slowly:

"What inducement do you require, Senor Meriaz?"

"Well," he exclaimed, greedily, passing his mottled tongue over his still more mottled lips, "it is quite true that Mr. Pierrepont paid me the five thousand today to preserve the secret; will you double that amount if I break my word and return his five thousand to him?"

"No. In the first place, the money did not belong to him. It belonged to the man who has been murdered, and whose murderer I intend to bring to the gallows, as he would desire. As his affianced wife, I tell you that you may keep the money, and to it I will add another five thousand if you tell me the story Leith Pierrepont wished concealed, if you will tell me how Olney Winthrop came to his death; but not a dollar will I add to that amount."

For a moment Meriaz hesitated, then leaning forward, with his beady eyes fixed upon her, he exclaimed:

"I may trust you?"

"I give you Miss Chalmers as my reference," she answered, coldly.

He leaned further forward, placing his arms upon his knees. He reminded her of some treacherous animal about to spring upon his helpless prey, and somehow she felt as she imagined she would if she were alone in a forest, the victim of some repulsive beast.

"You want to know how Olney Winthrop came to his death," he said, speaking in a half-hoarse whisper, whose effect he had counted, "and you offer me five thousand dollars to tell you the story Leith Pierrepont would have concealed?"

"I do."

"Very well; I consent. Listen: Olney Winthrop was suffocated in a deserted mine. He was pushed down by some one with whom he was walking along the lonely road."

She had risen slowly, her hands pressed upon her breast, her eyes wild with terror.

"And the person with whom he was walking," she cried, heavily, pantingly, "was—"

"Leith Pierrepont," he answered, sullenly.

She uttered a little half-strangled cry.

"You are sure," she gasped; "sure?"

"I saw it all," he said, slowly. "I saw them walking, saw them approach the mine, saw the shove, heard the fall and the awful cry as Winthrop reached the bottom. There was no possible way to save him, and Pierrepont knew that when he threw him to his death."

She stood there stonily, the quiet of death growing upon her.

"Can you prove this?" she asked, dully.

"Every word," he returned, cunningly, "if you offer sufficient—inducement. That was not included in the bargain."