“Morella made love to you in England, Señora Betty—did he not?—and won your heart as he has won that of many another woman, so that you came to believe that he was carrying you off to marry you, and not your cousin?” “What affair is that of yours, woman?” asked Betty, flushing angrily. “None at all, save that I could tell much such another story, if you cared to listen. But hear me out, and then answer me a question, or rather, answer the question first. Would you like to be avenged upon this high-born knave?” “Avenged?” answered Betty, clenching her hands and hissing the words through her firm, white teeth. “I would risk my life for it.” “As I do. It seems that we are of one mind there. Then I think that perhaps I can show you a way. Look now, your cousin has seen certain things which women placed as she is do not like to see. She is jealous, she is angry—or was until I told her the truth. Well, to-night or to-morrow, Morella will come to her and say, ‘Are you satisfied? Do you still refuse me in favour of a man who yields his heart to the first light-of-love who tempts him? Will you not be my wife?’ What if she answer, ‘Yes, I will.’ Nay, be silent both of you, and hear me out. What if then there should be a secret marriage, and the Señora Betty should chance to wear the bride’s veil, while the Dona Margaret, in the robe of Betty, was let go with the Señor Brome and her father?” Inez paused, watching them both, and playing with the fan she held, while, the rendering of her words finished, Margaret and Betty stared at her and at each other, for the audacity and fearfulness of this plot took their breath away. It was Margaret who spoke the first. “You must not do it, Betty,” she said. “Why, when the man found you out, he would kill you.” But Betty took no heed of her, and thought on. At length she looked up and answered: “Cousin, it was my vain folly that brought you all into this trouble, therefore I owe something to you, do I not? I am not afraid of the man—he is afraid of me; and if it came to killing—why, let Inez lend me that knife of hers, and I think that perhaps I should give the first blow. And—well, I think I love him, rascal though he is, and, afterwards, perhaps we might make it up, who can say?—while, if not—— But tell me, you, Inez, should I be his legal wife according to the law of this land?” “Assuredly,” answered Inez, “if a priest married you and he placed the ring upon your hand and named you wife. Then, when once the words of blessing have been said, the Pope alone can loose that knot, which may be risked, for there would be much to explain, and is this a tale that Morella, a good servant of the Church, would care to take to Rome?” “It would be a trick,” broke in Margaret—“a very ugly trick.” “And what was it he played on me and you?” asked Betty. “Nay, I’ll chance it, and his rage, if only I can be sure that you and Peter will go free, and your father with you.”