e to see!"

The priest started back, and commenced fumbling with a lamp which
stood on a table at the foot of the bed. "Are you not the German
doctor from Palermo?" he asked, bending over towards Paul, with his
keen, dark face alight with suspicion and distrust.

Paul shook his head. "I am no doctor at all!" he answered. "I am an
Englishman, and my name is Paul de Vaux!"

"Ah!" There was a faint, incoherent cry from the bed--a cry, which,
faint though it was, shook with stifled emotion. Both men turned
round, and Paul could see that the other's face was dark and stern.

The woman, who had been lying on the bed still and motionless as a
corpse, had raised herself with a sudden, spasmodic movement. Her
cheeks were sunken to the bone, and her eyes were large and staring.

The seal of death was upon her face, but Paul recognised her. It
was the woman whom he had seen last in the drawing-room of Major
Harcourt's house, the woman whom Adrea had called her stepmother.

He took a sudden step forward, and she held out her hands in a gesture
half of welcome, half of fear. "Paul de Vaux! Holy Mother of God! What
has brought you here--here into the tiger's den? Come close to me!
Hasten!"

Paul stepped forward, but the priest stood between them, holding
out his hands in a threatening gesture. "Sister, forbear!" he cried
sternly. "You have made your peace with God; you have done with the
world and all its follies. Close your eyes and pray. Fix your thoughts
upon things above!"

She did not heed him. She did not even look towards him. Her eyes were
fixed upon Paul, and he read their message aright.

"This woman wishes to speak to me. Stand aside, and let me go to her!"
he exclaimed. "If she be indeed dying, surely you should respect her
wishes."

He spoke imperatively, for the priest stood in the way, and prevented
his approach; pointing towards the door with a stern, commanding
gesture.

"There must be no converse between you and this woman!" he said. "I am
no lover of violent deeds; but if you insist upon forcing your way
to her bedside, I shall summon the Count, and you will pay for your
rashness with your life. Your name and features are a certain death
warrant in this house. Escape while you may, and _pax vobiscum_.
Remain and I cannot save you!"

Paul glanced round the room. Two monks were standing with lighted
tapers on the further side of the bed, one of whom was mumbling a
Latin prayer. The man who had brought