‘Have you forgotten, then, what you promised, when you asked me to assist you to escape the inevitable blame of the consequences of our mutual love,--that, if your parents refused to sanction our marriage, you would elope with me to Santa Lucia, and not return until we were man and wife in the eyes of the law, as we are now in the eyes of Heaven?’ ‘But you have _not_ done as I asked you,’ she replied evasively. ‘I don’t see that you have done anything. _It_ is still here, closer at hand even than I thought it was, and (whatever you may say) liable at any moment to be brought home to my door. And there is another danger, Henri. Mamma has discovered our secret--how, I am unable to say, but she has told me so pretty plainly, and also that she will keep it only on one condition--’ ‘And that is--’ ‘That I accept the proposals of Sir Russell Johnstone.’ ‘_You shall not!_’ cried her lover indignantly. ‘I will not stand by quietly and see the woman I consider _my wife_ handed over to that bald-headed old Governor. I will go straight up to Mr Courtney sooner, and confess the truth, and ask his pardon for what I have done. Surely he would never wish you to marry another man, if he knew what has taken place between us. And if he persists in dragging you to the altar, I will tear you from your bridegroom’s arms, and stab you to the heart, before he shall claim what is mine.’ Quita’s star-like eyes dilated with terror. She knew something of what the Spanish and Creole blood is capable of doing when roused, and foresaw bloodshed--perhaps murder--if Henri de Courcelles did not have his own way. And yet, to give up the brilliant prospect before her, in order to become an overseer’s wife, and one whose maiden reputation would be lightly spoken of, seemed to be impossible. Why had she ever entangled her feet in a net which threatened to drag her down to a life of obloquy and shame? To what friend could she turn in her great need? Suddenly the idea flashed across her mind that she would confess everything to her mother. Mrs Courtney already knew (or had guessed) the truth, and counselled her daughter on the best mode of escaping its results. She was very anxious to see Maraquita Lady Johnstone. If making a clean breast of her secret brought a certain amount of recrimination on her head, it would at the same time secure her an ally with whom to fight this terrible battle for a name and a position in life. For the first time hope and comfort seemed to enter her breast. If her mother were on her side, she felt she could defy Henri de Courcelles, and Liz Fellows, and the world. All their assertions would be taken as impudent lies, and only secure their own immediate banishment from Beauregard. But, meanwhile, her lover must be quieted and conciliated, and Maraquita knew how to do it full well. She had scarcely conceived the notion how to act in the future, before her white arms were wreathed about his neck.