"Gently, my dear brother-in-law," she said, sneeringly; and he shook the hair back from his forehead, and regained his self-possession by a strong effort. "You wanted to know who taught me the song? My information has a price." She had folded her hands in her lap, and was looking quietly into his face. "Name it!" he burst out impatiently. "It is a high price; but I can give you _all_ the information you may want in return. Here is a sample." She had turned the music-stool on which she was seated, and while he paced up and down the room to hide his agitation, she continued in the tone of one holding easy converse with a good friend: "I learned this little Spanish song from a very pretty girl in New Mexico. She said she had once taught it to an American, a tall, handsome man, with blue eyes and fair face, who must have been in love with her, I think, for he had always substituted her name, in the refrain, for the name which the author of the song had put into it. She, too, must have been fond of this American with blue eyes and dark blonde hair; for, though not in the least conceited, or aware of her own attractions, she always sang the refrain with her own name, Manuela, instead of the original name, Juanita, simply because this American had wished her so to do. The air is beautiful, I think; and the words are very pretty too." She turned to the keys again, as though to repeat the air. "Stop!" he said hoarsely, arresting her hand; "you will kill me. What is the price you ask?" "The price is high," he groaned, when she had coolly and in unfaltering tones stated her conditions to him. "But if you promise to keep to your word, I will do my best." "You will succeed, then," she said, holding out her hand, and speaking almost cordially as they parted for the night. When she reached her room she seemed for once to have fallen into Paul's _rôle_ of Wandering Jew; but her steps were noiseless, though the thoughts that danced and chased through her brain _would_ come to her tongue, in quick, triumphant words. "My upright, truthful judge and brother-in-law--to bring about a reconciliation between his best friend, my husband, and his 'erring but loving wife.'" A haughty look flashed in her eyes: "Regina--and pleading for forgiveness! Ah, well--even a queen must sometimes stoop to conquer!" The weeks passed slowly on; and, absorbed though Laura was in her camphor-bottle and her novels, she could not but notice that Paul had altogether changed in his behavior toward her sister; and she rejoiced over this in her own fashion: "I always told Regina that her innocence would come to light, and she would triumph over the machinations of her enemies, and get married to a--But she _is_ married--I forget. Well, it will all come right, and she'll be ever so happy, I know."