"I did not expect that from you," she said. "You are unjust; I am forced into this."
"You are not," he began but she stopped him.
"I think we will go to the drawing-room, Mr. Monteith," she interrupted; "will you give me your arm? this is a pleasant room," with an effort at gaiety.
"Yes, very," he replied. They were both acting a part.
"Look at all these guns and daggers," said Carmela, stopping before them, "and there's a stiletto; get it down, will you, Mr. Monteith?"
Ronald took down the weapon, overcome with vague emotions. A stiletto, the very weapon she had used to-- But, no--it could not be true.
"It's very pretty," said Carmela, taking it to the lamp to examine it. "I had one once with an ivory handle--the head of Bacchus surrounded with bunches of grapes."
Ronald gave a cry. She was describing the very stiletto by which Verschoyle had been killed. Great heavens! could it be that she was guilty after all?
"Head of Bacchus--grapes! was--was that yours?" he stammered.
"Yes," she replied, laying down the weapon on the table, and looking at him in a puzzled manner.