The sunlight was fading from the high windows, and I was deep sunk in a sick man's megrims, before aught came to disturb the silence of the cobwebbed garret. From nausea and racking pains I had come to the stage of querulous self-pity. 'Twas monstrous, this burying a man alive, ill, fettered, uncared-for, to live or die in utter solitude as might happen. I could not remotely guess to whom I owed this dismal fate, and was too petulant to speculate upon it. But the meddler, friend or foe, who had bereft me of my chance to die whilst I was fit and ready, came in for a Turkish cursing--the curse that calls down in all the Osmanli variants the same pangs in duplicate upon the banned one. It was in the midst of one of these impotent fits of malediction that the wainscot door was opened and closed softly, and light footsteps tiptoed to my bedside. I shut my eyes wilfully when a voice low and tender asked: "Are you awake, Monsieur John?" I hope you will hold me forgiven, my dears, if I confess that what with the nausea and the headache, the fetters and the solitude, I was rabid enough to rail at her. 'Twas so near dusk in the ill-lighted garret that I could not see how she took it; but she let me know by word of mouth. "_Merci, Monsieur_," she said, icily. And then: "Gratitude does not seem to be amongst your gifts." At this I broke out in all a sick man's pettishness. "Gratitude! Mayhap you will tell me what it is I have to be grateful for. All I craved was the chance to die as a soldier should, and some one must needs spoil me of that!" "Selfish--selfish always and to the last," she murmured. "Do you never give a moment's thought to the feelings of others, Captain Ireton?" This was past all endurance. "If I had not, should I be here this moment?" I raved. "You do make me sicker than I was, my lady." "Yet I say you are selfish," she insisted. "What have I done that you should come here to have yourself hanged for a spy?" "Let us have plain speech, in God's name," I retorted. "You know well enough there was no better way in which I could serve you." "Do I, indeed, _mon ami_?" she flashed out. "Let me tell you, sir, had she ever a blush of saving pride, Margery Stair--or Margery Ireton, if you like that better--would kill you with her own hand rather than have it said her husband died upon a gallows!" A sudden light broke in upon me and I went blind in the horror of it. "God in Heaven!" I gasped; "'twas you, then? I do believe you poisoned me in that dish of tea you sent me last night!" She laughed, a bitter little laugh that I hated to think on afterward. "You have a most chivalrous soul, Captain Ireton. I do not wonder you are so fierce to shake it free of the poor body of clay." "But you do not deny it!" I cried. "Of what use would it be? I have said that I would not have you die shamefully on the gallows; so I may as well confess to the poppy-juice in the tea. Tell me, Monsieur John; was it nasty bitter?"