it thankfully to him. If my remorse is bitter, it is
because through him I have a gleam of light which helps me to
understand."

"And you have told him what you have told me?"

"No, but I shall to-night when all this is over, when I go back to
Harrel."

Mario Escobar moved closer to her.

"Are you so sure that you are going back to Harrel to-night?" he asked
in a low voice.

"Yes," she replied, and only after she had spoken did the menace of his
voice force itself into her mind as something which she must take into
account. She looked up at him startled, and as she looked her wonderment
turned into stark fear. The cry that in his country men killed had left
her unmoved. But she was afraid now, desperately afraid, all the more
afraid because she thought of the man searching for her through the
reception-rooms at Harrel.

"We are alone here in an empty quarter of the house. So you arranged
it," he continued. "Good! Women do not amuse themselves at my expense
without being paid for it."

Joan started up in a panic, but Escobar seized her shoulders and forced
her down again.

"Sit still," he cried savagely. Then his face changed. For the first
time for many minutes his lips parted in a smile of pleasure.

"You are very lovely, Joan. I love to see you like
that--afraid--trembling. It is the beginning of recompense."

Joan had tumbled into a deeper pit than any she had dreamed of. In
desperation she cast about for means to climb out of it. The secrecy of
this meeting--that must go. But, even so, was there escape? The bell?
Before she could be half-way across the room, he would be holding her in
his arms. A cry? Before it was half uttered, he would have stifled her
mouth. No, she must sit very still and provoke no movement by him.

Mario Escobar was a creature of unhealthy refinements. He wanted to
know, first, who was the man who had touched this indifferent maiden
into warm life. The knowledge would be an extra spice to his pleasure.

"Who are staying in the house?" he asked. It would be amusing to make
his selection, and discover if he were right.

"Dennis Brown, Harold Jupp"--Joan began, puzzled by his question, yet
welcoming it as so much delay.

"I don't want to hear about them," Mario Escobar replied. "Tell me of
the new-comers!"

"Martin Hillyard----" Joan began again, and was aware that Mario Escobar
made a quick startled movement and gasped. Martin Hillyard's name was a
pail of cold water for Esc