Silas Craig was right in his conjecture. Paul Lisimon went straight from the lawyer's office to the Villa Moraquitos.
It was there, and in the eyes of her so dearly loved, and of the haughty benefactor of his youth, that the young Mexican was eager to disprove the lying accusation brought against him.
A thief!
His proud spirit revolted at the very thought of the base nature of the crime of which he was accused. Theft—the most contemptible, petty theft—a theft upon the employer who had trusted him!
He found Camillia within doors, and, in the presence of Pauline Corsi, told her the story of his wrongs.
The lovely eyes of the Spanish girl flashed with indignant fire.
"We always hated this man, Craig, by instinct, Paul," she said; "that instinct did not deceive us."
Pauline Corsi appeared to sympathize sincerely with the lovers, and expressed the utmost contempt for Silas Craig.
While Paul was seated by Camillia, her hand clasped in his, her large black eyes bathed in tears, yet lifted confidingly to his face, the sound of the footsteps of several men was heard upon the staircase without, and Don Juan Moraquitos entered the apartment, followed by Silas Craig.
The brow of the Spaniard was dark with passion, but beneath the red eyebrows of the lawyer, there sparkled the light of malice and cunning.