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."

Mercedes, the tears yet clinging to her long, black lashes, stood
motionless, gazing at the other with fascination, her slender,
scarlet-draped figure quivering to the force of these impetuous words.
She longed, yet dreaded, to hear, her own lips refusing utterance. But
Beth Norvell gave little opportunity; her determination made, she swept
forward unhesitatingly. As though fearful of being overheard, even in
the midst of that loneliness, she leaned forward, whispering one quick,
breathless sentence of confession. The startled dancer swayed backward
at the words, clutching at her breast, the faint glimmer of light
revealing her staring eyes and pallid cheeks.

"Mother of God!" she sobbed convulsively. "No, no! not dat! He could
not lie to me like dat!"

"Lie?" in bitter scornfulness. "Lie! Why, it is his very life to