“I will,” he replied, “at any cost.”

“I tremble to think how much money, I, in my cowardly fear, have lent him.  He will want more and more, until he has drained a fortune, and I shall be no safer in the end.  I will lend him no more money, Basil; but you, my only friend, shall get the letters.”

“I will.  How shall I do it!  Oh, Lady Lisle, let me fight him—­let me punish him as he deserves!”

“No,” she said; “he is too cunning.  If you were to offer to fight with him, he would know it was for my sake, and he would so place the letters as to fall into my husband’s hands if anything happened to him.”

But the hot flush did not fade from Basil’s face.

“I must thrash him,” he cried.

“No; for my sake, and because you would do me true service, you must not,” she said.

“I will give him all my fortune for the letters,” he said.

“That would not do—­he would take your money first, then, holding the letters, would still want more.  I will tell you the only plan by which you can help me.  Go boldly into the room and bring the letters away.”

“But that looks so much like stealing them,” he said.  “Let me fight him and take them because I win.”

“No,” she said, sadly.  “If you will not help me, as I wish, I must forego all aid, and suffer on.”

“You have but to command,” he cried, “and I will obey.”

“This is the count’s address,” she said.  “Go into his rooms; you will find there an ivory casket; he keeps the letters there; he told me so.”

“I will do it,” he said, quietly.

A beautiful light came into her eyes.

“I knew you would save me, Basil,” she said, tenderly.  “When will you do it?”

“I will make my first essay tonight.  I shall not rest again until it is done.”

“Go to his rooms,” she said; “ask for him; if they tell you he is not in, say you will wait for him; then, while you are in the room, open the casket, take out the letters, destroy them at once, and send word to me when it is done.  Do not stop to think whether I am right, whether it is the better plan, but do it at once, because I have said so.”

“I will do it,” he replied.  Then she saw a shadow fall over his face.  “There is nothing really in them, I suppose, Lady Lisle?”

“Nothing,” she said, “but the cry of a woman’s breaking heart!  Enough to ruin me, should my husband ever come to know it.”

“That he never shall; they shall be destroyed.  If I die for it, they shall be destroyed.”

“Ah, me,” she said; “had ever liege lady so true a knight?  Basil, how shall I thank you?”

“The pleasure of serving you will be thanks enough,” he replied.

“Ah, generous knight, noble knight, who shall say true chivalry is dead?” And she praised him, she flattered him, she thanked him until the slight doubt that had occurred to him died away and he was ashamed of it.