them harm."

"Not caring whether it would do them harm or no," corrected Ramiro, "as
you had your own object to gain--the young lady whom, by the way, you
were quite ready to doctor with a love medicine."

"Because love blinded me," said Adrian loftily.

Ramiro put his hand upon his shoulder and shook him slightly as he
answered:

"And has it not struck you, you vain puppy, that other things may blind
you also--hot irons, for instance?"

"What do you mean?" gasped Adrian.

"I mean that the rack is a wonderful persuader. Oh! it makes the most
silent talk and the most solemn sing. Now take your choice. Will you
sign or will you go to the torture chamber?"

"What right have you to question me?" asked Adrian, striving to build up
his tottering courage with bold words.

"Just this right--that I to whom you speak am the Captain and Governor
of the Gevangenhuis in this town, an official who has certain powers."

Adrian turned pale but said nothing.

"Our young friend has gone to sleep," remarked Ramiro, reflectively.
"Here you, Simon, twist his arm a little. No, not the right arm; he may
want that to sign with, which will be awkward if it is out of joint: the
other."

With an ugly grin the Butcher, taking his fingers from Adrian's throat,
gripped his captive's left wrist, and very slowly and deliberately began
to screw it round.

Adrian groaned.

"Painful, isn't it?" said Ramiro. "Well, I have no more time to waste,
break his arm."

Then Adrian gave in, for he was not fitted to bear torture; his
imagination was too lively.

"I will sign," he whispered, the perspiration pouring from his pale
face.

"Are you quite sure you do it willingly?" queried his tormentor, adding,
"another little half-turn, please, Simon; and you, Mistress Meg, if he
begins to faint, just prick him in the thigh with your knife."

"Yes, yes," groaned Adrian.

"Very good. Now here is the pen. Sign."

So Adrian signed.

"I congratulate you upon your discretion, pupil," remarked Ramiro, as he
scattered sand on the writing and pocketed the paper. "To-day you have
learned a very useful lesson which life teaches to most of us, namely,
that the inevitable must rule our little fancies. Let us see; I think
that by now the soldiers will have executed their task, so, as you have
done what I wished, you can go, for I shall know where to find you if I
want you. But, if you will take my advice, which I offer as that of one
friend to another,