"Alas! I cannot die who suffer this purgatory, and must dwell on
here alone until the destined day. Yes, yes, the spirit of her who was
Benita da Ferreira must haunt this place in solitude. This is her doom,
to be the guardian of that accursed gold which was wrung from the earth
by cruelty and paid for with the lives of men."
"Is it still safe?" whispered Jacob.
"I will look;" then after a pause, "I have looked. It is there, every
grain of it, in ox-hide bags; only one of them has fallen and burst,
that which is black and red."
"Where is it?" he said again.
"I may not tell you; never, never."
"Is there anyone whom you may tell?"
"Yes."
"Whom?"
"Her in whose breast I lie."
"Tell her then."
"I have told her; she knows."
"And may she tell me?"
"Let her guard the secret as she will. O my Guardian, I thank thee. My
burden is departed; my sin of self-murder is atoned."
"Benita da Ferreira, are you gone?"
No answer.
"Benita Clifford, do you hear me?"
"I hear you," said the voice of Benita, speaking in English, although
Jacob, forgetting, had addressed her in Portuguese.
"Where is the gold?"
"In my keeping."
"Tell me, I command you."
But no words came; though he questioned her many times no words came,
till at last her head sank forward upon her knees, and in a faint voice
she murmured:
"Loose me, or I die.
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