“It is enough?”
The cowled head bent.
“Then let us through, father, and alone.”
The grate clanked. He gripped my arm, and, seizing the taper from the sacristan, led me down a long flight of steps, through a low doorway, into a crypt. And there, on the damp ground, full in our view, was something lying, and a sheet over.
“No, no!” I screamed. “You have tortured me enough already!”
Never releasing my arm, he set the taper in a crevice, and dragged me to the dreadful bed.
“What!” he said, “are you afraid to look on your work?”
And, pinning me forcibly, he bent and drew the cloth away. And side by side with the other, I saw the dead face of Pissani.
Without a word, I sank down where I stood, and he fell back from me.
“O, woman!” he cried, in a terrible voice, “that you could talk of your pride, with this lying at your heart!”