"Pardon me, brother; everything, word by word." "Still there is an important detail, which you have doubtless forgotten, as you have passed it over in silence?" "I do not understand to what you are alluding, brother," the monk replied, gravely. "You have forgotten to reveal to me the name and position of this woman, father." "That is true: but it is not forgetfulness on my part. In acting thus, I have obeyed the orders I received. The lady implored me to tell you nothing touching her name or position. She reserves that for herself, when you are alone together: and I swore to keep her secret." "Ah! Ah! Señor monk," the adventurer exclaimed, with a wrath the more terrible because it was concentrated; "You have taken that oath?" "Yes, brother, and will keep it at all risks," he answered firmly. The adventurer burst into a hoarse laugh. "You are doubtless ignorant," he said, in a hissing voice, "that we _ladrones_, as your countrymen call us, possess marvellous secrets to untie the most rebel tongues, and that you are in my power." "I am in the hands of God, brother--try it. I am only a poor defenceless man, incapable of resisting you. Torture me, then, if such be your good pleasure; but know that I will die, without revealing my secret." Montbarts bent a flashing glance on the monk who stood so calm before him; and then, a moment after, struck his forehead angrily. "I am mad!" he exclaimed: "What do I care for this name--do I not know it already? Listen, father. Forgive me what I said to you, for passion blinded me. You came to this island freely, and shall leave it freely--in my turn I swear it to you; and I am not more accustomed to break any oaths I take--no matter their nature--than you are." "I know it, brother. I have nothing to forgive you. I see that grief led you astray, and I pity you, for Heaven has chosen me, I feel a presentiment of it, to bring a great misfortune upon you." "Yes, you speak truly. I did not seek this woman--I tried to forget her, and it is she who voluntarily places herself in my path. It is well, Heaven will judge between her and me. She demands that I will go and see her, and I will do so, but she must only blame herself for the terrible consequences of our interview. Still, I consent to leave her yet one chance of escape. When you return to her, urge her not to try to see me again. You see, that I have a little pity for her in my heart, in spite of all she made me suffer; but if, in spite of your entreaties, she persists in meeting me, in that case her will be done. I will go to the place of meeting she may select." "I know where it is, brother, and am ordered to point it out to you today." "Ah," the filibuster said, suspiciously, "she has forgotten nothing. Well, where is it?" "The lady, you can understand, cannot quit the island, even if she wished to do so." "That is true. So we are to meet in Hispaniola itself?" "Yes, brother." "And what spot has she selected?"