"Poor girl! She will regret now having helped a stranger, who, in
return, has brought her only grief and desolation," he murmured,
sorrowfully.
Miriam passed nearly three days in sad thought, when her solitary
mourning was broken by the visit of a thickly-veiled woman, whose low,
sweet tones fell like softest music on Miriam's ear.
"Are you alone?" she asked, glancing questioningly round the room.
"Yes. Did you want me?"
"I do, very badly. I remembered only to-day that you once proved a
true friend to Diniz Sampayo, and I came to know if you would again
aid him?" throwing back her veil, and disclosing a pale, sweet face,
stamped by deepest grief.
"Diniz Sampayo! But is he, then, in need of help--in danger?" a sudden
fear lighting up her face.
"Yes, he is in prison," sadly.
"You are sure? How can it be possible? What has he done?" in amazed
wonder.
"He has done nothing. Only his enemies have thrown the suspicion of
his having stolen a poignard from Manuel Tonza--a poignard which I
know he bought here. It is my fault this has happened. It was to
avenge the death of the man I loved--his dearest friend--that he
placed his life in peril!"
"I remember well. It is quite true he bought it here, soon after
Jarima, the fisherman, had sold it to my grandfather.
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