murdered by a cowardly hand on his way home from your father's
palace!"

Lianor grew deathly pale.

"Dead!" she repeated, clasping her hands despairingly to her throbbing
brow. "It cannot be true! My darling dead--murdered!"

"My poor child, it is only too true! This morning he was found, and
brought home, stabbed through the heart!"

"But who could have done it?" Savitre asked in a low, hushed whisper.

"I wish I knew. But, alas! that is a mystery!"

Lianor gazed helplessly from one to the other, then, breaking from her
friend's gentle hold, staggered forward.

"Where are you going, Lianor?" Diniz asked, anxiously.

"To him. I must see for myself the terrible truth."

"Can you bear it?"

"Yes--oh, yes!"

Very tenderly Diniz took one of the trembling hands in his, and led
her toward a darkened chamber, where, on the blue-draped bed, lay the
still form of his young friend.