"What is this you have done to her now?" he cried. "And what is this you have made her say?"
But the psychologist now was not watching either the girl or his client. His eyes were fixed upon the face of Canonigo Penol, shot with red veins and livid spots of overpowering terror.
"So, Don Canonigo Penol," Trant addressed him, "that was the way of it? But, man, you could scarcely have been enough in love with a girl four years old to take this long and expensive trip for her nineteen years later. Was there property then, which belonged to her that you wanted to get?"
Canonigo Penol heard the question, though he did not look at his questioner. His eyes, starting from his head, could still see only the stony face of the girl who, thus unconsciously, under the guidance of the psychologist, had accused him in a manner which filled him with superstitious terror. Palpitating, convulsed with fright, with loose lips shaking and knees which would not bear his weight, he slipped from his chair and crawled and groveled on the floor before her.
"Oh, speak not—speak not again!" he shrieked. "I will tell all! I lied; the old Spaniard was not poor—he was rich! But she can have all! I abandon all claim! Only let me go from here—let me leave her!"
"First we will see exactly what damage you have done," Trant answered. "Dr. Pierce," he turned collectedly to his client, "you have just heard the true account of last Wednesday afternoon."
"You want me to believe that she let him in—she
