oison, for
there before her, still the same, still handsome, although so marred by
time and scars and evil, stood the man who had been her husband, Juan
de Montalvo. But whatever she felt Lysbeth showed nothing of it in her
face, which remained white and stern; moreover, even before she looked
at him she was aware that he feared her more than she feared him.

It was true, for from this woman's eyes went out a sword of terror that
seemed to pierce Montalvo's heart. Back flew his mind to the scene of
their betrothal, and the awful words that she had spoken then re-echoed
in his ears. How strangely things had come round, for on that day, as
on this, the stake at issue was the life of Dirk van Goorl. In the old
times she had bought it, paying as its price herself, her fortune, and,
worst of all, to a woman, her lover's scorn and wonder. What would she
be prepared to pay now? Well, fortunately, he need ask but little of
her. And yet his soul mistrusted him of these bargainings with Lysbeth
van Hout for the life of Dirk van Goorl. The first had ended ill with a
sentence of fourteen years in the galleys, most of which he had served.
How would the second end?

By way of answer there seemed to rise before the eye of Montalvo's mind
a measureless black gulf, and, falling, falling, falling through its
infinite depths one miserable figure, a mere tiny point that served to
show the vastness it explored. The point turned over, and he saw its
face as in a crystal--it was his own.

This unpleasant nightmare of the imagination came in an instant, and in
an instant passed. The next Montalvo, courteous and composed, was bowing
before his visitor and praying her to be seated.

"It is most good of you, Vrouw van Goorl," he began, "to have responded
so promptly to my invitation."

"Perhaps, Count de Montalvo," she replied, "you will do me the favour to
set out your business in as few words as possible."

"Most certainly; that is my desire. Let me free your mind of
apprehension. The past has mingled memories for both of us, some of them
bitter, some, let me hope, sweet," and he laid his hand upon his heart
and sighed. "But it is a dead past, so, dear lady, let us agree to bury
it in a fitting silence."

Lysbeth made no answer, only her mouth grew a trifle more stern.

"Now, one word more, and I will come to the point. Let me congratulate
you upon the gallant deeds of a gallant son. Of course his courage and
dexterity, with that of th