't have treated him as they did." Dirk was in prison, and
Dirk was to be starved to death, for, whatever Montalvo might think, he
did not know the secret, and, therefore, could not tell it. And she--she
had the plague on her; she knew its symptoms well, and its poison was
burning in her every vein, although she still could think and speak and
walk.

Well, why not? It would be no crime. Indeed, if it was a crime, she
cared little; it would be better that he should die of the plague in
five days, or perhaps in two, if it worked quickly, as it often did with
the full-blooded, than that he should linger on starving for twelve or
more, and perhaps be tormented besides.

Swiftly, very swiftly, Lysbeth came to her dreadful decision. Then she
spoke in a hoarse voice.

"What do you wish me to do?"

"I wish you to reason with your husband, and to persuade him to
cease from his obstinacy, and to surrender to me the secret of the
hiding-place of Brant's hoard. In that event, so soon as I have proved
the truth of what he tells me, I undertake that he shall be set at
liberty unharmed, and that, meanwhile, he shall be well treated."

"And if I will not, or he will not, or cannot?"

"Then I have told you the alternative, and to show you that I am not
joking, I will now write and sign the order. Then, if you decline this
mission, or if it is fruitless, I will hand it to the officer before
your eyes--and within the next ten days or so let you know the results,
or witness them if you wish."

"I will go," she said, "but I must see him alone."

"It is unusual," he answered, "but provided you satisfy me that you
carry no weapon, I do not know that I need object."

So, when Montalvo had written his order and scattered dust on it from
the pounce-box, for he was a man of neat and methodical habits, he
himself with every possible courtesy conducted Lysbeth to her husband's
prison. Having ushered her into it, with a cheerful "Friend van Goorl, I
bring you a visitor," he locked the door upon them, and patiently waited
outside.

It matters not what passed within. Whether Lysbeth told her husband
of her dread yet sacred purpose, or did not tell him; whether he ever
learned of the perfidy of Adrian, or did not learn it; what were their
parting words--their parting prayers, all these things matter not;
indeed, the last are too holy to be written. Let us bow our heads and
pass them by in silence, and let the reader imagine them as he will.