"Then help me to escape, and I shall fill your hands with gold." "But in that case I should incur my patron's enmity." "And in the other you will run a very certain risk of being hanged." "Even so, monsieur." "You fear your patron more keenly than the law!" I cried. "Believe me, you are wrong." "Pardon!" he interrupted, "you mistake, monsieur. I fear no man. Sir Charles Venner is my patron and my teacher. But he is also my friend. I would suffer death for him, if need arose." I sighed. "Will he really kill me, do you think?" I asked. The negro pursed out his thick, black lips. "I feel sure of it," he muttered. "As soon as once the jewels that he seeks are in his hands, you'll die." "Then my hours are numbered," I said gloomily, "for that will be to-day." "But then, can it be, you told him truly, yesternight, monsieur?" "I was mad!" I groaned aloud. "Mad. Last night I cared for nothing! I was torn apart with rage and with despair. But now it is different." I groaned again. "Ah! M. Beudant, is there no hope for me? You do not look inhuman! Would you have the murder of a fellow being on your soul. Help me to live, if only for a little while--a few short hours? One other day? I am not fit to die, Beudant. Great God, no! I am not fit to die!" "What can I do for you, monsieur?" "Oh! it is not much I ask. Go to your patron and persuade him that I lied last night." "Impossible, monsieur! He has already left the house." "Then follow him, Beudant. I am bound or I would beseech you on my knees. Beudant for the love of God----" "Monsieur, monsieur!" "Kind, sweet Beudant!" I wailed. "Beautiful, excellent Beudant, do this little thing for me. See it is a dying man entreats you. Sweet Beudant, pretty Beudant." The poor negro looked the picture of distress. His eyes rolled in his head, and he knew not what to do or say. "I cannot deceive my patron!" he cried at last. But at that I shrieked aloud and drove him from the room with venomous blood-curdling curses. In his agitation he forgot to take with him the candle, which he had set upon the floor, and that circumstance gave me an occupation for some hours which in some degree alleviated my dark mood of bitterness. I thought that by dint of great stress and labour I might work my chair beside the flame and sear through some or other of my bonds. In four hours of constant effort I had moved a foot perhaps, but then I gave up in despair, for I had still a yard to go and already the candle guttered in its socket.