"What does it mean?" she gasped, hoarsely. "What under heaven could have induced him to lie?"
Once again Carlita leaned forward, her scorching fingers touching Jessica's wrist in an uncanny sort of way that made the latter shiver.
"The truth is not upon the lips of—a guilty man," she answered, in a hollow, unnatural tone. "Forgive me, Jessica, but I heard your words the night he came with his awful story of Olney's—death. I heard you accuse—him to your mother. I know that you, too, believe him guilty."
She paused, but Jessica did not speak. She waited for her to continue, and after a moment the hollow voice went on:
"I went down to see him, hoping to hear more, and I heard you instead, accusing him to your mother. It has been a bond of sympathy between us. I have loved you because I knew you must hate him as I do."
"And yet you continue to receive him!" exclaimed the arch-hypocrite, half reproachfully.
She was scarcely prepared for the excitement her words provoked. Carlita sprang to her feet and walked hastily up and down the room, her hands clasping and unclasping, her cheeks crimson, her breath coming in little gasps.
"I know that you will hate me even as I hate myself for the despicable part that is forced upon me, but it is only to prove his guilt that I have undertaken it. It is only to bring him to a punishment of his dastardly crime; and, despise myself as I will—let the whole world despise me if it must—I shall play the part to the bitter end!"
She was at the other end of the room and could not see the hateful, cunning smile that lurked about the corners of Jessica's mouth as she said, quietly:
"Then you know that he loves you?"