“Mr. Winston is coming, Mercedes; I—­I must see him this time alone.”

The Mexican’s great black eyes flashed up wonderingly into the flushed face bending over her, marking the heightened color, the visible embarrassment.  She sprang erect, her quick glance through the window revealing the figure of the engineer striding swiftly toward them.

“Oh, si, senorita; dat iss all right.  I go see Mike; he more fun as dose vat make lofe.”

There was a flutter of skirts and sudden vanishment, even as Miss Norvell’s ears caught the sound of a low rap on the outer door.  She stood breathing heavily, her hands clasped upon her breast, until the knock had been repeated twice.  Her voice utterly failing her, she pressed the latch, stepping backward to permit his entrance.  The first swift, inquiring glance into his face frightened her into an impulsive explanation.

“I was afraid I arrived here too late to be of any service.  It seems, however, you did not even need me.”

He grasped the hand which, half unconsciously, she had extended toward him; he was startled by its unresponsive coldness, striving vainly to perceive the truth hidden away beneath her lowered lids.

“I fear I do not altogether understand,” he returned gravely.  “They merely said that you were here with a message of warning for me.  I knew that much only a moment ago.  I cannot even guess the purport of your message, yet I thank you for a very real sacrifice for my sake.”

“Oh, no; truly it was nothing,” the excitement bewildering her.  “It was no more than I would have done for any friend; no one could have done less.”

“You, at least, confess friendship?”

“Have I ever denied it?” almost indignantly, and looking directly at him for the first time.  “Whatever else I may seem, I can certainly claim loyalty to those who trust me.  I wear no mask off the stage.”

Even as she spoke the hasty words she seemed to realize their full import, to read his doubt of their truth revealed within his eyes.

“Then,” he said slowly, weighing each word as though life depended on the proper choice, “there is nothing being concealed from me?  Nothing between you and this Farnham beyond what I already know?”

She stood clinging to the door, with colorless cheeks, and parted lips, her form quivering.  This was when she had intended to speak in all bravery, to pour forth the whole miserable story, trusting to this man for mercy.  But, O God, she could not; the words choked in her throat, the very breath seemed to strangle her.

“That—­that is something different,” she managed to gasp desperately.  “It—­it belongs to the past; it cannot be helped now.”

“Yet you came here to warn me against him?”

“Yes.”

“How did you chance to learn that my life was threatened?”

She uplifted her eyes to his for just one instant, her face like marble.