re you going out? Are you well
enough to go out?" she asked, adding the last question quickly.

"I should go if I were much more ill than I have been," Veronica
replied. "I am not coming back."

"Not coming back?" Surprise brought energy into Matilde's voice.

"No. I am not coming back. Do not be astonished. I understand what has
happened, and I am going to a safer place."

"What? How? I do not understand." Matilde spoke rapidly and unsteadily.
"You must stay here--Gregorio is going to send for the chief of
police--there will be an inquiry, and you must answer questions--we
suspect one of the servants, who has a grudge against your uncle, and
who has tried to murder us all in revenge--"

"Yes," said Veronica, calmly. "It was well arranged, I am sure. If I had
not found the rat-poison under the chest of drawers in Elettra's room,
you might have thrown suspicion upon her, because her husband was
murdered at Muro. If I had not found my tea too sweet, I should not have
taken out the second piece and given it to the cat. The taste I had of
it almost killed me--you have explained the rest to me now. But I knew
all that I needed to know."

Matilde put her feet to the ground and slowly rose to her feet while
Veronica was speaking. Then she laid her two hands upon the girl's
shoulders and stared into her face.

"Do you dare to accuse me of trying to poison you?" she asked in a low,
fierce voice.

"Take your hands from me!" cried Veronica, thrusting her back. "Call
your husband. I will accuse you both--you and him."

They were women of the same race and name, and both brave. But the elder
and stronger felt her nerves growing weak in her when she heard the
other's voice. Perhaps courageous people recognize courage and
conviction in others more easily than cowards can. Matilde hesitated.

"Call him!" repeated Veronica, in a tone of command. "I insist upon it.
He shall hear what I have to say."

"I will call him, that he may see for himself that you are quite mad,"
answered Matilde. "That is," she added, "if he is well enough to come
here from his room." And she moved slowly towards the door.

"If I am alive, he is well enough to hear me speak," said the young
girl.

Matilde stopped, turned, and faced her a moment, as though about to
speak angrily. Then she went on. It was best, on the whole, to call her
husband, she thought, though her reasoning was confused and uncertain.
In her view of matters, the burden of the c