“You are here, I suppose, sir, for the purpose of attempting to interfere with my domestic arrangements; but let me assure you that you shall hang to one of these trees rather than be even admitted within the house!” “Your threats are brave enough, at all events,” said Harding, with a smile. “But do you not think it would better become a woman to assist me in a duty of humanity?” “What does she know of humanity?” demanded a sharp female voice, close to the group; and on turning his head Harding saw the same woman, whose story of deception and betrayal had so much interested him two hours before. “What do _you_ here?” demanded the señora, with one of those scowling looks for which her face seemed made. “Must I have you, too, thrust from my gate!” “_Your_ gate!” hissed the woman, advancing nearer to the object of her hatred, and flashing insane glances from those wild, haggard eyes. “_Your_ gate! Impostor, witch, begone! Must _I_ have _you_ thrust from _my_ gate?” There is something very appalling in the glance of an eye touched with insanity; and the Englishwoman shrunk from it, if not in fear, at least in dread. But, at the same moment, she saw Margarita returning with the water, and called to her— “Go back, my daughter, and send some of the men here.” “To thrust me forth from _your gate_, I suppose,” said the woman, advancing still closer, and fumbling with her right hand under the end of her mantilla. “Yes,” said the señora fiercely; “will you go without violence?” “No!” the maniac almost screamed. “_No!_” she repeated; and with the word, she suddenly drew her hand from its concealment, flourishing the dagger which she had shown Harding, and with a bound like that of a tiger, sprang upon her enemy and buried the steel in her heart! Harding dropped Grant, and rushed forward to prevent another blow, but his interference was too late! The señora screamed wildly, and with a convulsive gasp fell to the ground, quite dead! Harding seized the arm of the murderess and easily wrested the dagger from her hand. Indeed, she made no resistance—the reaction of her excitement sapped away her strength; and, submitting without a word to all that Harding did, she seemed intent only upon the now fast stiffening corpse which lay before her. “I am sorry for her,” she murmured; “I am sorry for her—but she would have it, and I cannot bring her to life.” She burst into tears, and threw herself to the ground—uttering the most terrible imprecations of God’s vengeance upon herself, mingled with curses of the late Colonel Eltorena, and incoherent references to his perfidy. Harding was at a loss how to act—so strangely embarrassing was the wild scene in which he found himself. The question was soon decided for him. He heard the approach of several armed men, walking with quick steps along the path, and, the next moment, Count De Marsiac suddenly entered the little area.