seemed to lapse equally unheeded by his fair client and the stranger.
Raising her eyes with a certain timid dignity which Don Jose's presence
seemed to have called out, she addressed herself to him.

"You are very kind and considerate, Mister Santierra, and I thank you. I
know that my husband"--she let the clear beauty of her translucent eyes
rest full on both men--"would thank you too. But I shall not be here
long enough to accept your kindness in this house or in your own. I have
but one desire and object now. It is to dispose of this property, and
indeed all I possess, to pay the debt of my husband. It is in your
power, perhaps, to help me. I am told that you wish to possess Los
Cuervos," she went on, equally oblivious of the consciousness that
appeared in Don Jose's face, and a humorous perplexity on the brow of
Poindexter. "If you can arrange it with Mr. Poindexter, you will find
me a liberal vendor. That much you can do, and I know you will believe
I shall be grateful. You can do no more, unless it be to say to your
friends that Mrs. Belle Tucker remains here only for that purpose,
and to carry out what she knows to be the wishes of her husband." She
paused, bent her pretty crest, dropped a quaint curtsey to the superior
age, the silver braid, and the gentlemanly bearing of Don Jose, and with
the passing sunshine of a smile disappeared from the corridor.

The two men remained silent for a moment, Don Jose gazing abstractedly
on the door through which she had vanished, until Poindexter, with a
return of his tolerant smile, said, "You have heard the views of Mrs.
Tucker. You know the situation as well as she does."

"Ah, yes; possibly better."

Poindexter darted a quick glance at the grave, sallow face of Don Jose,