to sea, the world lay
lifeless and silent and white around her.

Then, the town being once more awake, Greeba had news of Jason. It
came through a little English maid, whom Sunlocks had found for her,
from Oscar, the young man who had gone out in search of her father
and returned without him. Jason was ill. Five days he had eaten
nothing, and nothing had he drunk except water. He was in a fever--a
brain fever--and it was now known for certain that he was the man who
had fainted outside the Cathedral on the marriage morning, that he
had been ill ever since then, and that the druggist of the High
Street had bled him.

With these tidings Greeba hurried away to the Bishop.

"The poor man has brain fever," she said. "He was ill when he made
the threat, and when he recovers he will regret it; I am sure he
will--I know he will. Set him at liberty, for mercy's sake," she
cried; and she trembled as she spoke, lest in the fervor of her plea
the Bishop should read her secret.

But he only shook his head and looked tenderly down at her, and said
very gently, though every word went to her heart like a stab--

"Ah, it is like a good woman to plead for one who has injured her.
But no, my child, no; it may not be. Poor lad, no one now can do
anything for him save the President himself; and he is not likely to
liberate a man who lies in wait to kill him."

"He _is_ likely," thought Greeba, and straightway she conceived of a
plan. She would go to Jason in his prison. Yes, she herself would go
to him, and prevail with him to put away all thoughts of vengeance
and be at peace with her husband. Then she would wait for the return
of Michael Sunlocks, and plead with that dear heart that could deny
her nothing, to grant her Jason's pardon. Thus it would come about
that she, who had stood between these two to separate them, would at
length stand between them to bring them together.

So thinking, and crying a little, like a true woman, at the prospect
of so much joy, she waited for Jason's recovery that she might carry
her purpose into effect. Meantime she contrived to send him jellies
and soups, such as might tempt the appetite of a sick man. She
thought she sent them secretly, but with less than a woman's wit she
employed a woman on her errand. This person was the little English
maid, and she handed over the duty to Oscar, who was her sweetheart.
Oscar talked openly of what he was doing, and thus all Reykjavik
knew that the tender-hea