"If thou fearest that, my Lord, why not say the word? A dagger in the back, and thy rival would be out of thy way forever." "No," Dunraven said, stopping for a moment his aimless walk. "No; I reserve him for a more exquisite torture than that; he would not suffer--a blow, and he would be out of his misery. But to see her in my arms, his successful rival, to have her cry to him for aid, and he bound helpless, unable to do aught but writhe in impotent agony--agony which wrings the soul--ah, my friend! that would be revenge indeed, such as I long for. Watch over him carefully. I would not have him come to harm for an earl's ransom. Curse him! How I hate him! When I can bring him to such a fate as this I shall be content, and not until then will I rest." "And what are thy plans?" DeNortier asked, his hands still fingering listlessly the massive goblet. The other looked at him keenly with his cold gray eye. "Can I trust thee?" he asked suspiciously. The adventurer laughed sardonically. "Thou hast trusted me thus far," he answered. "Have I played thee false in aught that thou askest me this?" "Forgive me," replied the Viscount. "Forgive me--but there hangs so much at stake that I fear to trust myself. Listen, and thou shalt learn my plans and purpose," and drawing up a heavy chair to the table, he seated himself. Filling up another goblet of wine, and drinking it down as though it were a thimbleful, he resumed: "The lady will not yield to me. I will give her but one more chance to freely and of her own will become my bride. If she still refuses to consent, then," a frown, dark and ominous, passed over his face, "I will by some ruse obtain possession of her and by force carry her on board one of my ships. Then, ho for Eldorado!" "Yes," he said, noticing the look of astonishment upon the Spaniard's face, "Sir Thomas Winchester shall behold her my bride. When he has suffered enough to satisfy me, I will put him out of the way. We will stay here until my lady becomes reconciled, and then we will sail back to England and home," and his eyes, so cold and gray, lighted up with delight and pleasure as he surveyed the face of the other. His companion did not at once speak, but sat in silence. "And all this," he finally said musingly--"all this toil and blood and sweat for one woman, when a score as beautiful stand at thy elbow. Truly did some wise man say, 'What fools we mortals be.'" "Ah!" answered Dunraven, rising from his chair, "thou hast not seen the Lady Margaret Carroll. Didst thou but lay eyes upon her, thou wouldst wonder no longer, for she is the daintiest slip of mortality that ever graced this cold gray earth. Man, half London is wild over her!" "It may be so," DeNortier replied, yawning behind his hand. "I would, for my part, prefer some less lovely maid who would be won more easily, and without all this labor."