Standing there with the sunset glow over her erect, graceful figure, in the pink flush of her cheek, in the cold fires of her eyes, in all the thousand nameless magnetisms of her presence, there was so much of her old power over this slave of passion, that the scorn of her words touched him only to inflame him, and he would have grovelled at her feet could he have touched the thin three fingers that she warningly waved at him.
"You wrong me, Julie, by the God of Heaven! I was wild, mad, this morning--you understand--for when I came to you I found you with another! I had reason, Mother of God! I had reason for my madness, reason enough; but I came in peace. Julie, I came in peace!"
"In peace," returned Mrs. Conroy, scornfully; "your note was a peaceful one, indeed!"
"Ah! but I knew not how else to make you hear me. I had news--news you understand, news that might save you, for I came from the woman who holds the grant. Ah! you will listen, will you not? For one moment only, Julie, hear me, and I am gone."
Mrs. Conroy, with abstracted gaze, leaned against the tree. "Go on," she said coldly.
"Ah! you will listen then!" said Victor, joyfully; "and when you have listened you shall understand! Well. First I have the fact that the lawyer for this woman is the man who deserted the Grace Conroy in the mountains--the man who was called Philip Ashley, but whose real name is Poinsett."
"Who did you say?" said Mrs. Conroy, suddenly stepping from the tree, and fining a pair of cruel eyes on Ramirez.
"Arthur Poinsett--an ex-soldier, an officer. Ah, you do not believe--I swear to God it is so!"
"What has this to do with me?" she said scornfully, resuming her position beside the pine. "Go on--or is this all?"
"No, but it is much. Look you! he is the affianced of a rich widow in the Southern Country, you understand? No one knows his past. Ah, you begin to comprehend. He does not dare to seek out the real Grace Conroy. He shall not dare to press the claim of his client. Consequently, he does nothing!"
"All!--ah, no. There is one more, but I dare not speak it here," he said, glancing craftily around through the slowly darkening wood.
"Then it must remain untold," returned Mrs. Conroy, coldly; "for this is our last and only interview."