ust die," said
Rollo, making a virtue of necessity; "but I have done no treacheries.
And as for heresy--I have none too much religion of any sort. If you can
help me to more and better, I shall be grateful, without being too
particular as to creed. But my father lived and died a good
Presbyterian, and so, Heaven helping me, shall I!"

The gloomy monk rose at these words, made the gesture of washing the
hands, and then, turning about, kissed the wood of the black crucifix.

"Lay the young man on the rack," he said; "when he is ready to recant
and be reconciled, you know where to find me!"

The two executioners of Anselmo's will were clad in black robes from
head to foot, even their hands being hidden. A tall pointed mask with
eye-holes alone revealed anything human underneath, as, panting with the
exertion, the men raised Rollo to the level of the huge table with the
double rollers beneath. Then he felt his hands and feet one by one
deftly loosened and refastened. The frame was slipped from underneath
him, and Rollo found himself stretched on the rack.

Then calmly seating themselves on a raised shelf close to his head, his
two executioners removed their tall black hoods, apparently in order
that they might wipe their beaded brows. But that they had a further
purpose was immediately apparent.

With infinite surprise Rollo recognised Luis Fernandez and his brother
Tomas. Luis smiled evilly as his ancient enemy rolled his head in his
direction.

"Yes," he said, "I told you my turn would come. I only wish that we had
also the pleasure of the company of your friend the outlaw, Ramon
Garcia. But after all, that great maundering oaf would never have spoilt
my plans but for your cursed interference. Twice, thrice, I had him
trapped as surely as a sheep in a slaughter-pen with the butcher's knife
at his throat. And then you must needs come in my way. Well, every dog
has his day, and now this day I shall square all reckonings."

Fernandez waited for Rollo to reply, but though his Scots instinct was
to give back defiance for defiance, he held his peace. After a pause the
ex-miller of Sarria rolled a cigarette and continued serenely between
the puffs.

"Now listen," he said, "this is my revenge. I have had to pay blood for
it, but now it is mine. For this I sold myself to the monks, truckled to
them, fetched and carried for them. To poor mad Anselmo, with his
antiquated inquisition and holy office, I became a bond-slave. I