Beth Norvell - Page 68/177

And this very choosing gave back her womanhood, cleared her dazed brain

for action, and sent the red blood throbbing through her veins. Her

immediate surroundings began to take definite form. To the left the

great, deserted stage extended, wrapped in total darkness, silent,

forsaken, the heavy drop-curtain lowered to the floor. Through its

obscuring folds resounded noisily a crash of musical instruments, the

incessant shuffling of feet, a mingled hum of voices, evidencing that

the dance was already on in full volume. Far back, behind much

protruding scenery, a single light flickered like a twinkling star, its

dim, uncertain radiance the sole guide through the intricacies of

cluttered passageways leading toward the distant stage entrance. Half

frightened at this gloomy loneliness, the girl moved gingerly forward,

her skirts gathered closely about her slender figure, with anxious eyes

scanning the gloomy shadows in vague suspicion. Suddenly a hand

gripped her extended wrist, and she gazed for a startled instant into

fiercely burning eyes, her own heart throbbing with nervous excitement.

"Vat vas he to you? Answer me! Answer me quick!"

The blood came back into her blanched cheeks with a sudden rush of

anger. Instantly indignation swept back the mists of fear. With

unnatural strength she wrenched free her captured hand, and sternly

fronted the other, a barely recognized shadow in the gloom.

"Permit me to pass," she exclaimed, clearly. "How dare you hide here

to halt me?"

The other exhibited her teeth, gleaming white and savage behind parted

lips, yet she never stirred.

"Dare? Pah! you vaste time to talk so," she cried brokenly, her voice

trembling from passion. "You no such fine lady now, señorita. You see

dis knife; I know how use eet quick. Bah! you go to him like all de

rest, but I vill know de truth first, if I have to cut eet out you. So

vat ees de Señor Farnham to you? Say quick!"

The American remained silent, motionless, her breath quickening under

the threat, her eyes striving to see clearly the face of the one

confronting her.

"Do you expect to frighten me?" she asked, coldly, her earlier anger

strangely changing to indifference. "It is you who wastes time,

señorita, for I care little for your knife. Only it would be an

extremely foolish thing for you to do, as I have not come between you

and your lover."

The impulsive Mexican dancer laughed, but with no tone of joy

perceptible.

"My lofer! Mother of God! sometime I think I hate, not lofe. He vas

like all you Americanos, cold as de ice. He play vis Mercedes, and

hurt--gracious, how he hurt! But I must be told. Vat vas he to you?

Answer me dat."

Beth Norvell's eyes softened in sudden pity. The unconscious appeal

within that broken voice, which had lost all semblance of threat,

seemed to reveal instantly the whole sad story, and her heart gave

immediate response. She reached out, touching gently the hand in which

she saw the gleam of the knife-blade. There was no fear in her now,

nothing but an infinite womanly sympathy.