It must have been a ruse of DeNortier's to frighten me from the cave, fearing that I would discover some of his secrets or perhaps his buried treasure; and if it were a trick, it served his purpose well, for never, from that day to this, have I put foot again in that cavern. Not for a barrel of gold would I tread again its dark recesses and feel that thrill of horror at the sound of that solemn voice. I sometimes now at night awake trembling with fear, thinking I hear once more in my ears those calm, majestic tones, the like of which I have never heard again from the lips of man. An hour after I had rushed from the cavern I was standing on the porch of the mansion, watching the ocean as it roared and chafed against its sandy prison, as though it were some caged thing striving to be free. * * * * * * * Two weeks had flown by since I had listened to Lord Dunraven's voice in DeNortier's chamber. Two weeks in which I had waited, my nerves keyed up to the highest pitch, for the next move from my enemies; but no sound came. My lord I had not seen since that night when he had disappeared in the cavern. It was as though he had vanished forever; but I knew that somewhere behind the scene he was watching and waiting for the time to ripen, so that the curtain could rise for the last scene in the tragedy. DeNortier had said naught to me, though he must have known of Herrick's death, and of the fact that I now had discovered the secret of my captivity. He still came and went as heretofore. I heard the sound of footsteps behind me and turning I saw one of the Indian attendants, called José. "What is it, José?" I asked, speaking in his own tongue. "The Señor wishes to talk with thee," he answered. "Even now he waits in the great room," and so saying he disappeared into the house. So the next move had come after all. I would be very watchful and silent, and so thinking, I passed into the hall and back to the great room where DeNortier awaited me. He was seated there in one of the huge chairs, his head buried in his hands, and did not hear me as I entered. "What is it, Count?" I asked. I had not seen him in several days, and the change in his appearance startled me; it was so different from his accustomed look. "Art sick?" I asked, "or what is it that ails thee?" He answered slowly and lifelessly. "I have even now a throbbing headache. But be seated, there is something of importance that I would speak to thee of." Seating myself near him, I waited in silence to hear what he would say. "Thou wilt remember that a few months ago I freed a beautiful Spanish girl at thy request. At that time thou didst tell me that I might do with thee what I would, if I but freed the maid. Is this not true?" "It is true," I answered. "But at the same time I told thee that I would do nothing unworthy of an English gentleman. Thou dost remember that too?"