peace who am now once more a beggar. Yes, had you twenty
husbands, I would crush the life out of all of them inch by inch to win
the gold that I desire."

As he spoke and the passions in him broke through their crust of cunning
and reserve, his face changed. Now Lysbeth, watching for some sign of
pity, knew that hope was dead, for his countenance was as it had been
on that day six-and-twenty years ago, when she sat at his side while
the great race was run. There was the same starting eyeball, the same
shining fangs appeared between the curled lips, and above them the
moustachios, now grown grey, touched the high cheekbones. It was as in
the fable of the weremen, who, at a magic sign or word, put off their
human aspect and become beasts. So it had chanced to the spirit of
Montalvo, shining through his flesh like some baleful marsh-light
through the mist. It was a thing which God had forgotten, a thing that
had burst the kindly mould of its humanity, and wrapt itself in the robe
and mask of such a wolf as might raven about the cliffs of hell. Only
there was fear on the face of the wolf, that inhuman face which, this
side of the grave, she was yet destined to see once more.

The fit passed, and Montalvo sank down gasping, while even in her woe
and agony Lysbeth shuddered at this naked vision of a Satan-haunted
soul.

"I have one more thing to ask," she said. "Since my husband must die,
suffer that I die with him. Will you refuse this also, and cause the cup
of your crimes to flow over, and the last angel of God's mercy to flee
away?"

"Yes," he answered. "You, woman with the evil eye, do you suppose that
I wish you here to bring all the ills you prate of upon my head? I say
that I am afraid of you. Why, for your sake, once, years ago, I made a
vow to the Blessed Virgin that, whatever I worked on men, I would never
again lift a hand against a woman. To that oath I look to help me at the
last, for I have kept it sacredly, and am keeping it now, else by this
time both you and the girl, Elsa, might have been stretched upon the
rack. No, Lysbeth, get you gone, and take your curses with you," and he
snatched and rang the bell.

A soldier entered the room, saluted, and asked his commands.

"Take this order," he said, "to the officer in charge of the heretic,
Dirk van Goorl; it details the method of his execution. Let it be
strictly adhered to, and report made to me each morning of the condition
of the prisoner. Stay, show