and closed," Don Abrahan returned, harsh, final, almost savage.
"How will you answer when the strong friends of that murdered man demand an accounting of you?"
"It is folly to speak of such things, Helena. The Americans never can overcome Mexico, they are of inferior breed, their valor is in their heels. If you look forward to such a day for your own deliverance your heart will die. Your deliverer is before you; I call you here to offer you a door to liberty, to life. Do not provoke me to close it in your face."
"I believe it is a custom with you, Don Abrahan, to sell your beneficence at a price. What am I expected to pay?"
"Nothing is wanted from you, Helena, nothing is asked—but justice. There is no price, but there is such a thing as recompense."
"If you can name a wrong," she said, in the conviction of innocence.
"We shall come to that. As I have said, the fact of your treason, even of your arrest, has not been officially proclaimed. No notice of seizure has been posted on your house and lands; your effects are guarded by men whom I trust. This written evidence, sufficient, I am afraid, to bring you long imprisonment, if not death, is known only to me and my son. With it removed, with no witness to come forward to disclose what it contained, the case against you will fall."
