For an instant Rosa made no sound and no effort to escape.  The apparition robbed her of breath, it paralyzed her in both mind and body.  Her first thought was that she had gone stark mad, but she had felt Cobo’s hands upon her once before and after her first frozen moment of amazement she realized that she was in her fullest senses.  A shriek sprang to her lips, she tried to fight the man off, but her weak struggle was like the fluttering of a bird.  Cobo crushed her down, strangling the half-uttered cry.

Terror may be so intense, so appalling as to be unendurable.  In Rosa’s case a merciful oblivion overtook her.  She felt the world grow black, fall away; felt herself swing dizzily through space.

O’Reilly looked upward, inquiring, sharply, “What’s the matter?” He heard a scuffling of feet above him, but received no answer.  “Rosa!  What frightened you?  Rosa?” There was a moment of sickening suspense, then he put his shoulder to the timbers he had displaced and, with a violent shove, succeeded in swinging them back into place.  Laying hold of the rope, he began to hoist himself upward.  He had gone but a little way, however, when, without warning, his support gave way and he fell backward; the rope came pouring down upon him.  “Rosa!” he called again in a voice thick from fright.  Followed an instant of silence; then he flattened himself against the side of the well and the breath stuck in his throat.

Into the dim circle of radiance above a head was thrust—­a head, a pair of wide shoulders, and then two arms.  The figure bent closer, and O’Reilly recognized the swarthy features of that man he had seen at the Matanzas railroad station.  There could be no doubt of it—­it was Cobo.

The men stared at each other silently, and of the two Cobo appeared to be the more intensely agitated.  After a moment his gaze fixed itself upon the opening into the treasure-chamber and remained there.  As if to make entirely sure of what he had overheard, he stretched his body farther, supporting it by his out-flung arms, then moved his head from side to side for a better view.  He seemed to rock over the mouth of the well like a huge, fat, black spider.  He was the first to speak.

“Am I dreaming?  Or—­have you really discovered that treasure?” he queried.

O’Reilly’s upturned face was ghastly.  He wet his lips.  He managed to whisper Rosa’s name.

“The riches of the Varonas!  Christ!  What a find!” Cobo’s teeth shone white in the grin of avarice.  “Yes, I see now—­a cavern in the rock.  Well, well!  And you are the spirit of Sebastian, chained in the bowels of La Cumbre.  Ha!  These are the ghosts—­” He began to chuckle, but the sound of his malevolent merriment was like the hiccoughing of a drunken man.

“Rosa!  What have you done—­”

Cobo ran on unheeding:  “It must be a great treasure, indeed, from all accounts—­the ransom of a dozen kings.  That’s what Cueto said, ‘The ransom of a dozen kings!’ Those were his very words.”