"If we do not prevent it. If I do not prevent it."
Then, suddenly, before Beatrix could put her foot on the steps as Zara had directed her to do, as well as ascend them, she felt her arm grasped by the latter, and heard her whisper:
"Stop! Before we mount to where he is--tell me--tell me truthfully, has--has he told you he loves you?"
"No----"
"You lie!"
"I do not lie," Beatrix replied, hotly, scornfully; "I never lie. But, since you will have the truth--I cannot understand why, what affair it is of yours--although he has not told me, I know it. Love can be made known without words."
Her own words struck like a dagger to the other's heart--nay, they did worse than that. They communicated a spark to the heated, maddening passions which until now, or almost until now, had lain half-slumbering and dormant in that heart; they roused the bitterest, most savage feelings that Zara's half-savage heart had nurtured.
"She scorns me," she said to herself, "she despises me because she knows she possesses his love, the love made known without words. Because she is sure of him. Ay, and so she shall be--but not in life. 'What affair is it of mine?'" she brooded. "She shall see. She shall see."
Then, as once more she motioned Beatrix to follow her up those stairs, she, unseen by the latter, dropped her right hand into the bosom of her dress, and touched something that lay within it.
"She shall see," she said again. "She shall see."