It took but little time for the girl to spring to its back, to ride it out at a sharp trot from the open plaza, and, having again extorted a promise from Paz, to be once more on her road toward Belize--she not heeding now the fierceness of the rays of the sun, which was by this time mounting high in the heavens.
And so at last she drew near to "Floresta," which she knew well enough was Mr. Spranger's abode; near to where the other girl was causing preparations to be made for reaching her father and telling him what she had learned through the arrival of the negro--she never dreaming of the further revelations that were so soon to be made to her. Revelations by the side of which the lying letter and the lying action of Sebastian in sending forward Julian's luggage would sink into insignificance.
She sat on in her garden, waiting now for the groom to come and tell her that the buggy was ready--sat on amid all the drowsy noontide heat, and then, when once more the parrots rustled their feathers, and the monkey opened its mournful eyes, she heard behind her a footstep on the grass; a footstep coming not from the house but behind her, from an entrance far down at the end of the tropical garden. And, looking around, she saw close to her the girl Zara, her face almost white now, and her clothes covered with dust.
"What is it?" Beatrix cried, springing to her feet. "What brings you here? I know you, you are Zara; you come from Desolada."
"Yes," the other answered, "I come from Desolada. From Desolada, where to-night murder will be done--if it is not prevented."
[CHAPTER XXIX.]
THE WATCHING FIGURE
With a gasp, Beatrix took a step toward the other, while as she did so the latter almost uttered a moan herself; though her agitation proceeded from a different cause--from, in truth, her appreciation of how wide a gulf there was between them. Between them who both loved the same man! Between this dainty English girl, who looked so fresh and fair, and was dressed in so spotless and cool a garb, and her who was black and swarthy, her who was clad almost in rags, and covered with the dust and grime of a long journey made partly on foot and partly on the mule's back. What chance was there for her, what hope, she asked herself, that Sebastian should ever love her instead of this other?
"Murder will be done!" Beatrix exclaimed, repeating Zara's words, even while a faintness stole over her that she thought must be like the faintness of coming death. "Murder will be done. To whom? To Mr.--to Lieutenant Ritherdon?"
"Yes," Zara answered, standing there before the other, and feeling ashamed as she did so of the appearance she must present to her rival, as she deemed her. "Yes, murder. The murder of Lieutenant Ritherdon. But, if you have courage, if you have any power, it may be prevented. And--and--you love him! I know it. There must be no crime. You love him!" she repeated fiercely.