In the room to which Mrs. Le Breton had alluded Eweretta lay upon her face sobbing wildly.
She dashed the tears from her eyes as her uncle entered. She stood up and faced him.
“Uncle, uncle!” she pleaded, lifting an agonized face to his. “Keep all the money, I don’t want it! But let me go to him!”
“What are you talking about?” said the man viciously. “You are mad! mad, do you hear? You are mad, Aimée Le Breton! What does he want with you?”
Eweretta’s spirit had not been quite broken by the treatment she had received, though she was weakened by drugs and unhappiness.
There was now a dangerous flash in the dark eyes, as of an animal at bay.
“Do you think to persuade me to believe the lie you have invented?” she asked with fine scorn. “You and that woman have done your best to deprive me of reason; but you have not succeeded. What have I ever done that you should so torture me? I have told you that you can take the money. I will never claim one penny of it. But give me my liberty!”
“A likely thing that!” laughed Alvin, “and lay myself open to your revenge!”
“Ah!” she mocked; “what revenge could poor half-witted Aimée Le Breton take? You say I am she!”
“I shall never give you your freedom,” Alvin affirmed stoutly, “and my advice to you is don’t attempt to take it. I have everything on my side. You have nothing! You lie buried at Qu’Appelle! You could not even persuade Barrimore that you are other than Aimée Le Breton. He saw you to-day. He has gone away believing you to be Aimée. He will not return.”