"That is true; I ought to have believed you--but, alas! I already loved her." "Zounds! I knew that, and she deserved it." "Does she still love me?" "Who can doubt it, poor dear creature?" "You are a good man, Michael." "I am just." There was another silence. At the expiration of a few minutes the Count renewed the conversation. "Did you find the letter?" he asked. "Where is it?" "Here," he said, as he handed it to him. The Count eagerly clutched it. "Have you read it?" he asked. "For what purpose?" said Michael. "Zounds, it must be a tissue of lies and infamies! And I am not curious about reading such things." "There, take it," said the Count. "To tear it up?" "No, to read it." "What's the good?" "You must know the contents of the letter--I order it." "That is different--give it here." He took the letter, opened, and ran through it. "Read it aloud," said the Count. "That is a pretty job you give me, Commandant. Still, as you wish it, I must obey you." "I implore you, Michael." "Enough, Captain." And he began reading the strange missive aloud. It was short and laconic, but on that very account it necessarily produced a more terrible effect, because every word was carefully chosen to go straight home. The following was its tenor:-- MY LORD, You have not married my daughter: I defrauded you by a false marriage. You shall never see her again--she is dead to you. For many years there has been an implacable hatred between your family and mine. I should not have gone to seek you, but Heaven itself brought you in my way. I understood that it was desired I should avenge myself, and I obeyed. I believe that I have succeeded in breaking your heart forever. The love you have for my daughter is sincere and deep. All the better, for you will suffer the more cruelly. Farewell, my lord. Believe me, you had better not try to find me, for, if you succeed, my vengeance will be even more terrible. My daughter will marry in a month the man she loves, and whom alone she has ever loved. "Don Estevan de Sylva, Duc de Peñaflor." When the sailor had finished reading he turned an enquiring glance to his chief. The latter shook his head several times, but made no other reply. Michael handed back the letter, which the Captain at once concealed beneath his pillow. "What do you intend to do?" the sailor asked him, a moment after. "You shall know hereafter," the Count answered, in a hollow voice. "I could not form a determination now, for my head is still heavy, and I require to reflect." Michael gave a nod of assent. At this moment the doctor came in. He appeared delighted at seeing his patient in so good a state, and with a joyous rubbing of his hands, promised that he should leave his bed in a week at the latest.