The woman's green-gray eyes were like steel in the moonlight. "Maxime Dalahaide; Liane Devereux," she slowly repeated. "I never heard these names."
Virginia was struck dumb by the other's effrontery, almost frightened by it. If this terrible creature withdrew into a brazen fortress of lies, who could tell how long a siege she might be able to withstand? The girl had been astonished and dismayed in the morning, when the first sally of the attack had failed; but then her strongest forces, her most deadly weapons, had been still in reserve. Now they had been brought against the enemy's defenses and—the walls had not fallen; there was no sign of capitulation. A cold misgiving began to stir in Virginia's mind. Would it mean failure if the Countess de Mattos obstinately refused to tell the truth?
After all, she was only a girl, opposed to a woman whose varied experience of thirty years or more had endowed her with infinite resource. Virginia's stricken silence gave the other a new advantage.
"As you have said yourself," icily began the Countess once more, "you are my hostess. You flattered me; you made me think that you were my friend; you asked me on board your yacht, and I came, trustingly, ignorant that, under some wild mistake which even now I do not comprehend, you plotted my betrayal. Why, it was a Judas act!"
"If I did evil, I did it that good might come," said poor Virginia. "And it shall come. You are Liane Devereux. You were guilty of the 'Judas act.' Maxime Dalahaide loved you; and with what motive I don't yet know, but mean to know, you betrayed him to a fate worse than death. For that you deserve anything. Yes, I kidnapped you. That's what Roger called it, and I don't repent now. You are here on this yacht with Maxime Dalahaide, and we are on the open sea. Unless you jump overboard, you cannot get away from your atonement. Atonement—that is the word. Oh, woman, woman—if you are a woman and not a stone, think what atonement would mean for you! You must have had terrible moments, living with remembrances like yours—a man who loved you sent to a living grave. Now it is in your power to make up to him—ever so little, perhaps, but a thousand times better than nothing—for the wrong you did. Do this—do it, and be thankful all the rest of your life for the blessed chance which heaven has sent you."
The Countess laughed. "You change your tone suddenly—from threats to an appeal. You would make quite a good preacher, but your eloquence can have no effect on my conscience, as I have not the remotest idea what you are talking about. I had let myself grow fond of you, and I was grateful for all these lazy, pleasant weeks, and for the money you lent me; but now that I know what was underneath your seeming kindness I am no more grateful, and I shall do my best to punish you for the wicked trick you have played upon me. As for attempting to prove that I am—what name did you give the woman?—well, anybody except myself, you will find it impossible. I have powerful friends who would travel far to save me from any trouble. You cannot keep me a prisoner on board this yacht. You must touch again at land before long, and then I shall go away and tell every one what has happened on your Bella Cuba."
"We shall see," said Virginia.
"We shall see," echoed the Countess. "And now I am going to my stateroom. Perhaps I may hope to be free from persecution there."
She swept away, looking gorgeously beautiful, and as proud as a queen bent on holding her crown against the people's will.
Virginia stood still, watching her; and when the tall, stately figure had disappeared, a crushing sense of defeat fell upon the girl.