shall die
of fear before my poor sister Linda, betrothed to-day to Giovanni--my
lover! Giovanni, you must have been mad! I cannot understand you! You
are not like other men! I will not give you up--never--only to God
himself! But why have you done this blind, mad, cruel, frightful thing?"

Released, she hung her head, let fall her hands. The altar-cloth, as if
tossed by a great wind, lay far away from them, gleaming white on the
black ground.

"From fear of losing my hope of you," said Nostromo.

"You knew that you had my soul! You know everything! It was made for
you! But what could stand between you and me? What? Tell me!" she
repeated, without impatience, in superb assurance.

"Your dead mother," he said, very low.

"Ah! . . . Poor mother! She has always . . . She is a saint in heaven
now, and I cannot give you up to her. No, Giovanni. Only to God alone.
You were mad--but it is done. Oh! what have you done? Giovanni, my
beloved, my life, my master, do not leave me here in this grave of
clouds. You cannot leave me now. You must take me away--at once--this
instant--in the little boat. Giovanni, carry me off to-night, from my
fear of Linda's eyes, before I have to look at her again."

She nestled close to him. The slave of the San Tome silver felt the
weight as of chains upon his limbs, a pressure as of a cold hand upon
his lips. He struggled against the spell.

"I cannot," he said. "Not yet. There is something that stands between us
two and the freedom of the world."

She pressed her form closer to his side with a subtle and naive instinct
of seduction.

"You rave, Giovanni--my lover!" she whispered, engagingly. "What can
there be? Carry me off--in thy very hands--to Dona Emilia--away from
here. I am not very heavy."

It seemed as though she expected him to lift her up at once in his two
palms. She had lost the notion of all impossibility. Anything could
happen on this night of wonder. As he made no movement, she almost cried
aloud--

"I tell you I am afraid of Linda!" And still he did not move. She became
quiet and wily. "What can there be?" she asked, coaxingly.

He felt her warm, breathing, alive, quivering in the hollow of his
arm. In the exulting consciousness of his strength, and the triumphant
excitement of his mind, he struck out for his freedom.

"A treasure," he said. All was still. She did not understand. "A
treasure. A treasure of silver to buy a gold crown for thy brow."

"A treasure?" s