“Yes; I can tell you all that, and more, too. I’ve got a wonderfully interesting story for you. You’ll not want to go when I begin. Sit down.” “What do you know? Tell me quickly.” “Don’t be impatient. It’s a long story. It begins on the Nevada desert. That’s where you were born; not in the cabin in Eldorado County, as I heard you telling Jake Shackleton that day at Mrs. Willers’.” He was watching her like a tiger, still standing with his back against the door. Her eyes were on him, wild and intent. Each word fell like a drop of vitriol on her brain. She saw that he knew everything. “Your mother was Lucy Fraser, but your father was not Dan Moreau. He was a very different man, and you were his eldest child, his eldest and only legitimate child. Do you know what his name was?” “Yes,” said Mariposa in a low voice; “Jake Shackleton.” It was Essex’s turn to be amazed. He stared at her, speechless, completely staggered. [Illustration: “DON’T YOU WANT TO HEAR WHO YOU ARE?”] “You know it?” he cried, starting forward toward her; “you know it?” “Yes,” she answered; “I know it.” He stood glaring, trying to collect his senses and grasp in one whirling moment what difference her knowledge would make to him. “How--how--did you know it?” he stammered. “That’s not of any consequence. I know that I am Jake Shackleton’s eldest living child; that my mother was married twice; that I was born in the desert instead of in Eldorado County. I know it all. And what is there so odd about that?” She threw her head up and looked with baffling coldness into his eyes. “Why shouldn’t I know my own parentage and birthplace?” “And--and--” he continued to speak with eager unsteadiness--“you’ve done nothing yet?” “Done nothing yet,” she repeated; “what should I do?” “That’s all right,” he said hastily, evidently relieved; “you couldn’t do anything alone. There must be some one to help you.” “Help me do what?” Both had forgotten the quarrel, the locked door, the fever pitch of ten minutes earlier. All other thoughts had been crowded out of Mariposa’s mind by the horrible discovery of Essex’s knowledge, and by the apprehensions that were cold in her heart. She shrank from him more than ever, but had no desire now to leave the room. Instead, she persisted in her remark: “Help me do what? I don’t know what you mean.” “Help you in establishing your claim. And fate has put into my hands the very person, the one person who can do that. You know there was a man who was in the cabin with Moreau--a partner. Did you ever hear of him?” She nodded, swallowing dryly. Her sense of apprehension strengthened with his every word.