"He is nothing to me," she said, earnestly, "absolutely nothing. I
despise him--that is all. He is unworthy the thought of any woman."
The slender figure of the Mexican swayed as though stricken by a blow,
the fierce, tigerish passion dying out of her face, her free hand
seeking her throat as though choking.
"Nothing?" she gasped, incredulously. "Sapristi, I think you lie,
señorita. Nothing? Vy you go to him in secret? Vy you stay and talk
so long? I not understand."
"He sent for me; he wished me to aid him in a business matter."
The other stared incredulous, her form growing rigid with gathering
suspicion that this fair American was only endeavoring to make her a
fool through the use of soft speech. The white teeth gleamed again
maliciously.
"You speak false to Mercedes," she cried hotly, her voice trembling.
"Vy he send for you, señorita? You know him?"
There was a bare instant of seeming hesitation, then the quiet, better
controlled voice answered soberly: "Yes, in the East, three years ago."
Like a flash of powder, the girl of the hot-blooded South burst into
fresh flame of passion, her foot stamping the floor, her black eyes
glowing with unrestrained anger.
"Dios de Dios! Eet ees as I thought. He lofe you, not Mercedes. Vy
I not kill you?--hey?"
Miss Norvell met her fiercely threatening look, her single step of
advance, without tremor or lowering of the eyes. She even released her
grasp upon the uplifted knife, as if in utter contempt. For a moment
they confronted each other, and then, as suddenly as she had broken
into flame, the excitable young Mexican burst into tears. As though
this unexpected exhibition of feeling had inspired the action, the
other as quickly decided upon her course.
"Listen to me, girl," she exclaimed gravely, again grasping the lowered
knife hand. "I am going to trust you implicitly. You feel deeply; you
will understand when I tell you all. You call me a fine lady because I
hold myself aloof from the senseless revelry of this mining camp; and
you believe you hate me because you suppose I feel above you. But you
are a woman, and, whatever your past life may have been, your heart
will respond to the story of a woman's trouble. I 'm going to tell you
mine, not so much for my sake as for your own. I am not afraid of your
knife; why, its sharp point would be almost welcome, were it not that I
have serious work to do in the world before I die. And you are going
to aid me in accomplishing it. You say you do not really know now
whether you truly love or hate this man, this Farnham. But I know for
myself beyond all doubt. All that once might have blossomed into love
in my heart has been withered into hatred, for I know him to be a moral
leper, a traitor to honor, a remorseless wretch, unworthy the tender
remembrance, of any woman. You suppose I went to him this night
through any deliberate choice of my own? Almighty God, no! I went
because I was compelled; because there was no possible escape. Now, I
am going to tell you why."