"I draw the line somewhere," said the captain. "I don't rob churches. Besides," he added in a contemptuous outburst, "I believe in honor, even among thieves. I'm not a fool. The stuff is worth five thousand pounds if it's worth a penny." The Viscount fidgeted about miserably, crumbling up bread. "Not five," he whined. "Say two thousand seven hundred. Or three at the outside. Now we'll suppose--" "Senhor Visconde de Ponte Quebrada, we will suppose nothing," retorted the captain, getting up in disgust. "I don't know what you are yourself: but damn it all, I'm a Christian. Will you sign that inventory ... or shall I? And what is your answer on your honor--if you've got any--to the Abbot?" The Viscount climbed off his chair and struck an attitude. "You are armed to the teeth, while I am defenseless," he said grandly, "but I will not brook these insults. Have a care." The captain laughed a scornful laugh. "We'll see who laughs last," squeaked the Viscount, stamping up to the soldier and shaking both his fists. "We'll see who laughs in Lisbon. What about José? What about Liberal niggers? Who is it that protects traitors? Pah! You're a Jesuit in sheep's clothing; you're a Miguelista spy; you're a--" The captain's long-pent rage brimmed over and burst forth like a tide of molten lava. He seized the Viscount's velvet collar as if it had been the scruff of a cat and rammed him down upon the nearest chair, hissing: "Take that back or I'll kill you." The Viscount sputtered. "Then down on your knees," said the captain: and in five seconds he had his victim groveling on the floor. "Take those words back, and ask my pardon, here and now, on your knees, before I wring your neck." "I ... take them back. I ... I beg your pardon," moaned the Viscount. He was about to rise when the captain dropped a heavy hand on his shoulder and forced him down again. "And to-morrow you sign that inventory?" With a very foul oath the Viscount said at length, "I sign." "Very well. As for the Abbot's questions you and he shall settle it between you. But mark. Don't try revenge. If anything goes wrong with me in Lisbon--with my promotion, with my career--I sha'n't let you off a second time, you blackguard. Even if it's some other man's intrigue, it's your dirty neck I shall come and wring. If you want to be on the safe side you'd better see to it that I'm major next week and colonel before next year is out. You son of a pig, get up!" IV When the door of his cell had fairly closed behind the captain and the Viscount, the Abbot made a sign that all should gather round him. For eight months he had not been seen in choir, and for many days disease and weakness had imprisoned him in his bed; but, as his spiritual family pressed forward, a measure of strength returned to him. Perhaps it was the excitement; perhaps it was supernatural assistance. He rose slowly to his feet and, leaning on his crozier, began: