“You know enough of us English, mademoiselle, to judge whether, having given my word, I should break it.” “There is no doubt,” said Inez, with a contemptuous toss of the head. “You at least have condemned me. And you, mademoiselle?” “If you admit you broke your word, I should be forced to believe you; but----” and she threw up her hands with a frown of perplexity. “But I have not admitted it,” I said. “How can you say that in the face of this letter?” cried Inez, her fingers shaking with anger as she held it out. “Wait, Inez. You can explain this, Mr. Donnington?” “I cannot explain anything----” “There, what did I say?” interposed Inez, with contemptuous scorn. “To those who have already condemned me without explanation.” Miralda looked at me steadily. “I have not condemned you,” she said slowly. “Then I tell you at once that the letter I wrote was written with the full sanction of a man whose approval even the Contesse Inglesia will regard as important--Dr. Barosa.” “Dr. Barosa!” they exclaimed together, but in very different accents. Miralda’s betokened surprise, Inez’ scorn and disbelief. “It was written last night in his presence, long after the raid on the Rua Catania house and when he had thoroughly satisfied himself and others that I had not broken my word.” “I find that very difficult of belief,” cried Inez. “Inez! How dare you?” cried Miralda impetuously, and then winced and flushed slightly in some confusion, as her friend turned sharply upon her with a meaning glance. “Mr. Donnington is to be congratulated upon having so zealous a champion,” she said coldly. But it was I, not she, who profited by this shaft. Miralda’s face set and her eyes shone as she held out her hand to me. “I owe you an apology, Mr. Donnington, for having stooped to listen to this slander. You have my word for it that I will not do it again.” As I took her hand, Inez coughed suggestively. Miralda understood and turned quickly from me. “There is a limit to what I will endure even from you, Inez. You have reached it now;” and Inez, being a person of discretion, held her tongue. I left them, asking Miralda to make my excuses to her mother, and returned to my rooms in a glow of pleasure at the proof of Miralda’s confidence in me, and her zeal in risking even a breach with Inez on my account. At my rooms I found a letter marked “Urgent and confidential.” I guessed of course that it had some concern with the concessions, and after puzzling over the unknown handwriting, as one will at times, I opened it without much interest. But I read it with the closest concern. It was from Vasco, and it gave me the very facts I was so eager to learn. CHAPTER XIV ALONE WITH SAMPAYO Vasco’s letter was very long, and so rambling and inconsequent in parts as to be almost incoherent. It was obviously written under the impulse of intense feeling, despair indeed; and was in response to my solicitation of confidence and offer of help.