"You do, you do! You really love me, 'Tina?" "Oh, I do! You know I do! more than life!" "Then let Satan have me after death! I do not care!" replied this desperate fool. "Hush! this is a dangerous topic. It makes me reel. Give me a glass of water, Malcolm, and let us talk of something else," said the wily siren. When she had drunk the water the viscount brought her she said: "There is a question I have been dying to ask you all day, but I could get no good chance without the risk of being overheard--and that would have been ruin." "What is the question, Faustina?" The woman turned so deadly white that her black eyes gleamed like great balls of jet from a face of stone, as sinking her voice to the lowest key, she said: "What have you done with it?" "With what, Faustina?" "With the dead body of the black woman?" The viscount slowly lowered his finger and significantly pointed downward. "Down there?" whispered Faustina. The viscount nodded. "Where we left it?" "Yes." "Oh, but that is not safe. There is suspicion. Suppose there should be a search; suppose there should be a discovery?" cried the woman in alarm. For she, who was not afraid of committing the worst crimes, was terribly afraid of meeting their consequences. "Be at ease. I shall not leave her there long; the sea is near at hand," whispered the viscount. "Yes, you may cast her into the sea; but the sea sometimes casts back its dead--especially when they have been murdered," shuddered the woman. "The sea will not cast her back," said the viscount significantly. "Oh. you will tie a heavy weight to her body! But when will you do it? Oh, I am in agony, until that is removed!" "Be still! I hope to have an opportunity of removing it tonight." "But you cannot do it alone. Let me help you. I would rather help you." "No, I can and will do it without your help. Do you think, my angel, that I would permit you to engage in such dreadful work?" "I helped you to stop her breath," said the woman hoarsely. "That was a work of necessity that presented itself suddenly before us. This is different." "But I would rather help. I would rather be present. I would rather see, for then I should know to a certainty that it was gone," she insisted. "Can you not trust me?" "No, no, I cannot trust anyone when my head is in danger of the guillotine." "I tell you there are no guillotines in England." "The other thing, then, which is worse, because it is more disgraceful. Hanging by the neck until one is dead! Ugh! No, I cannot trust you, Malcolm, where so much is at stake," said the woman, with a terrible shudder. "You have no confidence in me then? And yet you say you love me. Why, confidence is the very soul of love."