from the lips of the Peruvian lady. Every one was as astonished by this outburst as though a dog had spoken. That the hitherto silent Donna Inez de Gayangos should speak thus freely and with such power was quite as great a miracle.
“You—are a dog and a liar,” said Donna Inez with great distinctness, and speaking English excellently. “What you say against Sir Frank is madness and foolish talk. In Genoa my father did not speak of the manuscript, nor did I, who tell you this. How, then, could Sir Frank kill this poor man, when he had no reason to slay him—”
“For the emeralds,” faltered Hervey weakly.
“For the emeralds!” echoed the lady scornfully. “Sir Frank is rich. He does not need to steal to have much money. He is a gentleman, who does not murder, as you have done.”
Hervey started to his feet, dismayed but defiant, and saw that he was ringed with unfriendly faces.
“As I have done. Why, I am—”
Donna Inez interrupted.
“You are a murderer. I truly believe that you—yes, that you” she pointed a scornful finger at him “killed this poor man who was bringing the mummy to the Professor. If you were in my own country, I should have you lashed like the dog you are. Pig of a Yankee, vile scum of the—”
“That will do, Inez,” said De Gayangos imperiously. “We wish to make this gentleman tell the truth, and this is not the way to go about the matter.”
“Gentleman,” echoed the angry Peruvian, “he is none. Truth! There is no truth in him, the pig of pigs!” and then, her English failing, she took