"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."