ad not seen one person besides himself
who did not display the most abject terror of Ribiera. Ribiera had
made no idle boast when he said that everyone about, guests and
servants, were slaves. They were. Slaves of a terror vastly greater
than mere fear of death. It--

"Senhor!... _Oh, Dios!_" It was the girl's voice, in despair.

Ribiera laughed. Bell felt a red mist come before his eyes.

He deliberately steadied his hands and lighted his cigarette. He heard
stumbling footsteps coming behind him. A hand touched his arm. He
turned to see the girl Ribiera had pointed out, her cheeks utterly,
chalky white, trying desperately to smile.

"Senhor!" she gasped. "Smile at me! For the love of God, smile at me!"

In the fraction of a second, Bell was mad with rage. He understood,
and he hated Ribiera with a corrosive hatred past conception. And then
he was deathly calm, and wholly detached, and he smiled widely, and
turned and looked at Ribiera, and Ribiera's whole gross bulk quivered
as he chuckled. Bell took the girl's arm with an excessive politeness
and managed--he never afterward understood how he managed it--to grin
at Ribiera.

"Senhora," he said in a low tone, "I think I understand. Stop being
afraid. We can fool him. Come and walk with me and talk. The idea is
that he must think you are trying to fascinate me, is it not?"

She spoke through stiffened lips.

"Ah, that I could die!"

Bell had a horrible part to play while he walked the length of the
formal garden with her, and found a pathway leading out of it, and led
her out of sight. He stopped.

"Now," he said sharply, "tell me. I am not yet his slave. He has
ordered you...."

She was staring before her with wide eyes that saw only despair.

"I--I am to persuade you to be my lover," she said dully, "or I shall
know the full wrath of The Master...."

* * * * *

Bell asked questions, crisply, but as gently as he could.

"We are his slaves," she told him apathetically. "I and _mi
Arturo_--my husband. Both of us...." She roused herself little under
Bell's insistent questioning. "We were guests at his house at dinner.
Our friends, people high in society and in the Republic, were all
about us. We suspected nothing. We had heard nothing. But two weeks
later Arturo became irritable. He said that he saw red spots before
his eyes. I also. Then Arturo's hands writhed at the ends of his
wrists. He could not control them. His nerve