And dimly I remembered, in
thinking of Loria as he had looked in that dreadful hour, that he had
worn a coat and hat like Maxime's. How can I tell what were the details
of his scheme? But when Maxime was accused of the murder, and Loria made
no effort to exonerate him, it took all my faith in the Marchese as a
lover to believe that he was sacrificing his friend wholly for my sake.
As for me--why should I give myself up to the guillotine for a man who
would have betrayed me for an Olive Sinclair--especially when he was not
condemned to death, but only to imprisonment?

"I went to England in Olive Sinclair's place. Fortunately for me, she had
no relatives. No one asked questions, no one cared what had become of
her. She was not a celebrity, in spite of the way in which Maxime
Dalahaide had worked to help her. After a while I left England for
Portugal. Meanwhile I had dyed my hair, and stained my complexion with a
wonderful clear olive stain which does not hurt the skin, and shows the
colour through. Here are the things I use, in this bag. I keep it always
locked and ready to my hand.

"Loria bought me a little land and an old ruined house near Lisbon,
belonging to an ancient family, of whom the last member had died. The
title went with the land. It was supposed that I was a distant cousin,
with money, and a sentiment of love for the old place. But really I hated
it. It was dull--deadly dull. I travelled as much as possible, and Loria
had promised that at the end of the five years he would marry me, saying
always that he loved me well; that if he had sinned it was for love of
me, and to save me. When the world had forgotten the affair of Maxime
Dalahaide we would be married, and live in countries where no one had
heard the story, and nothing would remind us of the past. I forced
myself to believe him, for he was my all--all that was left to me in
exile. But now I know him for what he is. I would swear that he planned
everything from the beginning to ruin Maxime Dalahaide. He here to help
his old enemy! No, it is he who must have set the bloodhounds on his
track. I fight under Loria's banner no longer. He loves Virginia Beverly.
Now that she knows him as he is, and what he has done for hatred, let her
put her hand in his if she will."

The woman's voice fell from a shrill height into silence. Her
olive-stained face was ash-gray with exhaustion. No one had interrupted,
or tried to check the fierce flood of the confession,