first. She was married then to an old
man, jealous and suspicious, knowing that his money had won the beautiful
wild creature for him. It was at Buenos Aires, and the husband had found
Madalena out in an intrigue; partly political, partly mercenary, and
partly passionate. He had turned her from his house without a penny, and
Knight--not personally concerned in the intrigue, but interested--had
been flush enough at the time to lend her a thousand dollars, enough to
go away with. It had been called a loan, but he had not expected to get
the money back, and never did get it.

In California she had set herself up as a palmist and had become
successful, a success she duplicated in New York; and she had gladly made
herself useful in many ways to "Don" and those with whom he "worked."

One way was to find out the number and worth of her rich clients' jewels,
and where they were kept. Through her crystal gazing she was able to
conjure women's secrets without their realizing that they, not she, gave
them to the light. And aboard the _Monarchic_ was not by any means the
first time that Madalena had been invaluable in diverting suspicion
by throwing it upon the wrong track.

Knight had consulted her, praised her, and flattered her from time to
time. Now he told himself that he was paying for his thoughtlessness.
He had taken Madalena for granted, regarding her as a machine rather
than a woman; and though he owed to her the loss of his happiness, that
happiness had been undeserved and, as he expressed it to himself, walking
the wet paths at midnight, he had "stood to lose it anyhow."

He would frighten Madalena so that she would never dare to try her tricks
again, and he would let her understand that because of what she had done
their partnership had come to an end once and forever. Otherwise she
should feel herself safe from him.

Bad he might be, and was, as he knew; but he didn't think it was in his
make-up, somehow, to strike a woman.

He did not go back to the house, after his short talk with Char, until
after he had heard the stable clock strike four. It was easier to think
and see things clearly out of doors than in his room adjoining
Annesley's--that closed room, forbidden to him now, where she was perhaps
crying, and surely hating him. As for the long nightmare day he had lived
through, it had been too full for much deliberate thinking; and he wanted
to plan for the future: how to begin again, and how to keep the woma