"It is the truth," replied his sister, falling backwards upon the couch.
"I will swear it upon the cross!"

"His name, then?" demanded the knight. "Tell me that, and I will believe
you."

"Not now--not now!" she returned, with a shudder. "When I am dead you
will learn it. Do not disquiet yourself. You will not have to wait long
for the information. Rowland," she added, in an altered tone, "I am
certain I shall not live many days. And if you treat me in this way, you
will have my death to answer for, as well as the deaths of my husband
and child. Let us part in peace. We shall take an eternal farewell of
each other."

"Be it so!" rejoined Sir Rowland, with concentrated fury; "but before we
_do_ part, I am resolved to know the name of your pretended husband!"

"Torture shall not wrest it from me," answered his sister, firmly.

"What motive have you for concealment?" he demanded.

"A vow," she answered,--"a vow to my dead husband."

Sir Rowland looked at her for a moment, as if he meditated some terrible
reply. He then arose, and, taking a few turns in the chamber, stopped
suddenly before her.

"What has put it into your head that your son yet lives?" he asked.