“Your husband?” The very utterance of the word choked me.  “Your husband?  Save him from what?  Where is he?”

“A prisoner to the Spaniards; condemned to die to-morrow at sunrise.”

“His name?”

“Chevalier Charles de Noyan.”

“Where confined?”

“Upon the flag-ship in the river.”

I turned away and stood with my back to them both.  I could no longer bear to gaze upon her agonized face uplifted in such eager pleading, such confiding trust; that one sweet face I loved as nothing else on earth.

Save her husband!  For the moment it seemed as if a thousand emotions swayed me.  What might it not mean if this man should die?  His living could only add infinitely to my pain; his death might insure my happiness—­at least he alone, as far as I knew, stood in the way.  “To die to-morrow!” The very words sounded sweet in my ears, and it would be such an easy thing for me to promise her, to appear to do my very best—­and fail.  “To die to-morrow!” The perspiration gathered in drops upon my forehead as I wavered an instant to the tempting thought.  Then I shook the foul temptation from me.  Merciful God! could I dream of being such a dastard?  Why not attempt what she asked?  After all, what was left for me in life, except to give her happiness?

The sound of a faint sob reached me, and wheeling instantly I stood at her side.

“Madame de Noyan,” I said with forced calmness, surprising myself, “I will redeem my pledge, and either save your husband, or meet my fate at his side.”

Before I could prevent her action she had flung herself at my feet, and was kissing my hand.

“God bless you, Geoffrey Benteen!  God bless you!” she sobbed impulsively; and then from out the dense shadows of the farther wall, solemnly as though he stood at altar service, the watchful Capuchin said: 

“Amen!”

CHAPTER II

A PERILOUS VENTURE

Any call to action, of either hazard or pleasure, steadies my nerves.  To realize necessity for doing renders me a new man, clear of brain, quick of decision.  Possibly this comes from that active life I have always led in the open.  Be the cause what it may, I was the first to recover speech.

“I hope to show myself worthy your trust, Madame,” I said somewhat stiffly, for it hurt to realize that this emotion arose from her husband’s peril.  “At best I am only an adventurer, and rely upon those means with which life upon the border renders me familiar.  Such may prove useless where I have soldiers of skill to deal with.  However, we have need of these minutes flying past so rapidly; they might be put to better use than tears, or words of gratitude.”

She looked upward at me with wet eyes.

“You are right; I am a child, it seems.  Tell me your desire, and I will endeavor to act the woman.”