"Señorita, may I see you in private?" The voice was sweet, but somewhat

muffled by the veil, while the words had just enough of the Spanish

accent to render them liquid and musical.

Kate bowed in assent, and silently led the way to a small reception-room

of her own. She motioned her caller to a seat, but the latter remained

standing and turned swiftly, facing Kate, still veiled.

"Señorita, you do not know me?" The words had the rising inflection of a

question.

"No," Kate replied, slowly; "I do not know you; but I know that this is

not your first call at The Pines."

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"I called some ten days since to see you."

"You called," Kate spoke deliberately, "more than a year since to see

Mr. Walcott."

The woman started and drew back slightly. "How could you know?" she

exclaimed; "surely he did not tell you!"

"I saw you."

There was a moment's silence; when next she spoke her voice was lower

and more musical.

"Señorita, I come as your friend; do you believe me?"

"I want to believe you," Kate answered, frankly, "but I can tell better

whether I do or not when I know more of you and of your errands here."

For answer the woman, with a sudden swift movement, threw back her veil,

revealing a face of unusual beauty,--oval in contour, of a rich olive

tint, with waving masses of jet-black hair, framing a low, broad

forehead. But her eyes were what drew Kate's attention: large, lustrous,

but dark and unfathomable as night, yet with a look in them of dumb,

agonizing appeal. The two women formed a striking contrast as they

stood face to face; they seemed to impersonate Hope and Despair.

"Señorita," she said, in a low, passionless voice, "I am Señor Walcott's

wife."

Kate's very soul seemed to recoil at the words, but she did not start or

shrink.

"I have the certificate of our marriage here," she continued, producing

a paper, "signed by the holy father who united us."

Kate waved it back. "I do not wish to see it, nor do I doubt your word,"

she replied, gently; "I understand now why you first came to this house.

What brings you here to-night?"

"I come to warn you that your father is in danger."

"My father!" Kate exclaimed, quickly, her whole manner changed. "Where?

How?"

"Señor Walcott has an engagement with him at eight o'clock at their

offices, and he means to do him harm, I know not just what; but he is

angry with him, I know not why, and he is a dangerous man when he is

angry."

Kate touched a bell to summon a servant. "I will go to him at once;

but," she added, looking keenly into the woman's face, "how do you know

of this? How did you learn it? Did he tell you?"