be able to tell something definite
concerning this child."

"You can spare yourself the trouble," broke in Don Felipe. "They are
both dead."

"Dead?" she cried, starting violently. "Joaquin and Manuelita dead?"

"Their bodies, together with those of their horses and wagon, were
discovered early this morning at the foot of the _mesa_ which lies
between here and La Jara, directly below the point where the road winds
along the rim of the cliff. Doubtless their horses became frightened in
the dark and jumped over the cliff before they could save themselves."

Chiquita uttered a low cry. "You've done your work well, Don Felipe
Ramirez," she said at length, suddenly straightening and stiffening as
she faced him, the expression on her face changing to one of hatred and
contempt.

"It was no easy task to run you to earth, I'll admit," he retorted with
the same sneering look of triumph on his countenance.

The only two persons upon whom she could rely, who could corroborate
what she had to say concerning the child, were dead. No, there was one
other, a man, but he too was gone--no one knew where. She saw the
hopelessness of her plight. Nothing she could say or do could alter the
opinion of the world toward her. She might continue to deny the charge,
protest her innocence, accuse others, but to what avail? Without the
actual proof, all must believe that which they were so ready and willing
to believe. Had not the child recognized her, called her mother before
the world? Even though the charge might never be actually proven, and
Captain Forest refuse to believe it, there would always be this thing
between them which she could never explain satisfactorily. It was not
natural to suppose that he could possibly forget it or continue to
believe in her protestations of innocence without the corroboration of
others. The hour must surely come in which he would be assailed by
doubts. She felt she had lost him, and with the knowledge of her
failure, was seized with a sickening sensation and an acute pain at the
heart. A misty veil rose between her and the world and she swayed
unsteadily as though about to fall. She knew she must not faint. She
drew her hand across her eyes, then, putting all her remaining strength
into the effort, she slowly drew herself up.

Strange, that she and Don Felipe should have been created to become the
nemesis of one another! The child, awed by the silence and grave faces
of the bystanders, instinctively