"The stuff you have applied burns like caustic, and eats into my flesh." "It is doing its duty," replied his wife, calmly watching his agonies.
"You will soon be easier." "Perhaps I shall--in death," groaned the sufferer.

"I am parched with thirst.

Give me a glass of water." "You shall have wine, Matthew, if you prefer it.

I have a flask in my pocket," she replied.

"But what of the treasure--where is it ?" "Peace!" he cried.