I felt a touch upon my arm; looking around, I saw Father Francis behind me. "Dog!" I shouted, "and dost thou think to slink here thus to taunt me, and after thou hast sworn away my life?" and with a threatening look, I lifted my clenched fist. "Hush!" he whispered, drawing nearer to me, his face grave and serious. "I have something of importance for thy ear alone. Come but into the next room. What! And when thy very life hangs in my hands, and I can save thee at a word? I offer to say that word even now for thee, and set thee and the lad free." And he pointed to Oliver, who upon seeing the priest had turned his back, and was gazing intently out of the window. "Thy life is thine own, to throw away as thou choosest," he continued, "but the boy, so young and innocent--wouldst thou send him to his death? His blood would be upon thy head." I hesitated, it would take but a moment after all, and I would save Oliver if I could. "I will listen to thee," I finally replied, "but look thee--beware how thou dost trifle with me. Thou shalt pay dearly for it, if thou doest so," and I looked at him threateningly. "I do not seek to trifle," he answered. "I talk but business for thee alone. Come!" and he crossed into the next room. Hesitating I followed, and seated myself in a chair opposite him, which the plunderers had left. "Out with it!" I cried impatiently. "Say quickly what thou wouldst and waste no time about it!" "A moment," he mumbled, "only a moment. Dost know this handwriting?" And running his hand into the folds of his robe he brought out a paper and held it out to me. Did I know it? Would I know my own heart beats, as they throbbed within my breast? I knew that delicate flowing hand. Did not there lie next my heart at that moment a yellow paper in the same writing? I took it in my hand, and looking at its address a moment, broke the seal and opened it. It was addressed to Lord Dunraven, and ran as follows: LONDON, ENGLAND. NOV. 15, 1587. LORD DUNRAVEN, London, England. MY DEAR LORD: