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.