There was a pause.
"Her husband!—He deems her dead, nor grieves he overmuch, believing, as he does, that her love was another's—even his whom I have marked for certain doom. I have it in my mind to try what a jest will do for him."
The lurid tone of the speaker seemed to impress even his shadowy companion.
"A jest?"
"He shall attend the great ceremony," Basil explained. "And he shall behold the stainless dove. When is it to be?" he added after a pause.
"When is it to be?"
"Six nights hence—on the night of the full moon."
"And then you shall give to me that which I crave, and the forfeit shall be paid."
"The forfeit shall be paid," the voice re-echoed from the shadows, and to Basil it seemed as if the damp, cold breath from an open grave had been wafted to his cheeks.
Like a phantom that sinks back into the night of the grave, whence it had emerged, Bessarion vanished from the chamber. In his place stood Hormazd, who had noiselessly entered through a panel in the wall.