"Speak!" he uttered hoarsely; "speak this instant, and tell me when and where you saw the woman with the serpent ring. Why are you so dumb when you see how impatient I am! Answer before I throttle you!" But with a ghastly grin Meg writhed herself out of his grasp and sneered: "That secret is worth gold to me!" "Harpy," he cried, and thrust his hands into his pockets, but withdrew them disappointed. He had already given her all the money about him. He tore the watch from his pocket, the ring from his hand, and flung them at her feet. "Take these, and speak!" he cried, but Meg spurned them with her foot. "It is not enough! Besides, I do not want jewels, but money!" "You shall have money to-morrow. But do not keep me waiting, I implore you! I am mad, mad for the clue you can give me. Speak now, for sweet pity's sake! Tell me all you know, and if it is worth anything to me, I will reward you richly." But the woman began to realize that her knowledge was valuable, and decided to sell it dearly. "The gold first!" she cried. "You are a stranger to me, and if I told you the secret first you might go away and never pay me!" Vainly he entreated and implored, promising money upon the morrow, but Meg was immovable. She was insensible to the pitiful anxiety of his haggard face. She obstinately refused his prayer, mocking at his impatience. Donald Kayne, mad with impatient wrath, lifted his hand and struck her lightly across the mouth. "Take that, you devil!" he cried hoarsely, and with a shriek of rage Meg sprung at him with a knife drawn. "I will kill you!" she hissed, with savage fury. But Donald Kayne was more than a match for the tigress, and soon disarmed her, although in the struggle he received a wound in the hand. He flung the knife into the sea, and wrapped his handkerchief about the wound, while she stood at a little distance watching him with glowering eyes. But his heart sank as he realized that his imprudence had defeated his own object, and that he might never be able to wrest from her the longed-for secret. But there was no present help for it, and he hurried from her along the beach toward Gray Gables. Meg shook her fist after him, and muttered anathemas upon him until he was almost out of sight; then turned her eyes again upon the sea, where the last fading rays of sunset lingered in radiant light. A sudden cry of joy shrilled over her lips. Across the water, in clear sight, was riding a trimly built little sailing craft, that had a very familiar look to her old eyes. "My son's bark!" she shrieked joyfully. CHAPTER XXII. PEPITA! Donald Kayne did not hear the old woman's shriek of joy, nor see Jack Dineheart's craft. He flung along the sands with a long, striding step, his heart seething with rage and pain, and, entering the grounds at Gray Gables, sought a seat among the thick shrubberies to muse undisturbed over his troubles.