“A great deal, as I will show you. Do you know it?”
“No, except that——”
“Anything about his South African career, I mean?” I broke in.
“No,” she replied, shaking her head.
“Then I’ll tell you.” And I told her enough to let her understand why he went in such fear of me. “That is the secret of Barosa’s hold over him,” I added.
“Why do you tell me this, and at such a time?” she asked suspiciously.
“Three days ago Sampayo offered to take any oath I pleased that he would never marry Miralda; and this morning on the Rampallo he told me he had all but gone on his knees to Barosa, to induce him to set Miralda free from all this, in order that I might be induced to leave the country.”
She began to understand me now. The catch of the breath, the dilating nostrils, the quick movement of the head, and the involuntary gripping of the hands, were signs as easy to read as print.
“Within the last hour or two, here in this room, I offered to write all that he needs if Miralda and I were put across the frontier. He refused. I asked myself—why? I ask you the same question?”
In the pause she sat gnawing her lip; her bosom rose and fell quickly under the strain of her quickened breathing; her colour began to wane; her brows were drawn together in a frown, and the pupils of those curious eyes of hers dilated as if her pent-up feeling had acted upon them like atropine. “Why do you tell me this?” she repeated, her voice down almost to a whisper.