All that night Dorothy was haunted by strange dreams, in which the figure of Lola played a prominent part. Usually calm and self-possessed, Dorothy slept like a child, but the fierce music, the mad dancing, the knowledge that George knew this terrible woman--for so she appeared to the girl--caused her to sleep brokenly. She was up early, and after a breakfast that was a mere farce she took her way to the Park. It was her usual custom to walk in a lonely part about eight o'clock in the morning but on this occasion she was at her usual spot by half-past seven. This was a seat under a spreading tree in the center of a wide lawn. Few people came there at so early an hour, and Dorothy often read for an hour before returning home. In a mechanical manner she took a book out of her pocket--it was the "Meditations" of Marcus Aurelius--and tried to fasten her attention on the soothing words of the stoic Emperor. But it was impossible. Before her inner vision passed the wild, flushed face of Lola Velez, and Dorothy could not drive it away. While endeavoring to do so some one came to sit on the seat. Dorothy, rather surprised, looked up. She saw Lola staring at her intently. The dancer looked pale and worn. About her there was none of the unholy influence of the previous night. As the morning was cold she wore a sealskin coat and toque with a scarf of red silk twisted round her throat. This touch of color was all that was about her likely to suggest her foreign origin. With her pale face and piteous mouth and appealing eyes she looked like a broken-hearted woman. Dorothy's first movement was to go away; but when she saw the sorrow on that wild face she remained where she was. The two gazed at one another for a time, and the thought in the mind of each was the same. Both thought of George Brendon. Lola began to speak without any preamble. "Mr. Bawdsey pointed you to me at the last night," she said in her imperfect English. "He declared you did walk early, and I have been with my eye on your mansion since six hours--what you call o'clock. I see you come, I follow you, I am here, Mees Vard, I am here." "What do you want?" asked Dorothy, calmly, her nerves much more under control than Lola's were. Yet both were agitated. "Ah," cried the foreign woman, throwing back her head, "give him to me! I love him--I worship him. Give him to me." "Of whom do you speak, mademoiselle?" "Ah, mademoiselle, so he speaks when angry. But I am no French. I am Señora--I am Spanish. I have warm blood here in my heart." She struck her breast fiercely. "And if you take him from me I will kill you. Yes, I will give you the death--quick, sure, sudden."