"Kill him for me, then! Kill him for me!"

"I cannot kill him," said the bishop. "I pray God it may prove
untrue."

"You are not my friend if you will not kill him," said Osra; and she
turned her face away, and rode yet more quickly.

[Illustration: "KILL HIM FOR ME, THEN! KILL HIM FOR ME!"]

At last they came in sight of the little house that stood back from
the road, and there was a light in one of the upper windows. The
bishop heard a short gasp break from Osra's lips, and she pointed with
her whip to the window. Now his own breath came quick and fast, and he
prayed to God that he might remember his sacred character and his
vows, and not be led into great and deadly sin at the bidding of that
proud, bitter face; and he clenched his left hand, and struck his brow
with it.

Thus, then, they came to the gate of the avenue of trees that led to
the house. Here, having dismounted, and tied their horses to the
gatepost, they stood an instant, and Osra again veiled her face.

"Let me go alone, madam," he implored.

"Give me your sword, and I will go alone," she answered.

"Here, then, is the path," said the bishop; and he led the way by the
moonlight that broke fitfully here and there through the trees.