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“Understand, señor, that the first duty of the servant of the Heart is silence, and that silence I demand of you. Men have died ere now, señor; yes, they have died on the rack in the dungeons of the Inquisition, and shrivelled as wizards in the fires of the stake, sooner than reveal those things that have been told them upon the faith of the Heart, against which the confessional itself cannot prevail—no, not with the best of Catholics.”

“But suppose that a man should not keep silence, Ignatio, what then?” he asked.

“There is a land, señor,” I answered, “where the most talkative grow dumb, and its borders can be crossed by all, even by the Lords of the Heart, for fearful is the doom of a false brother!”

“You mean that if I repeat anything I may hear, I shall be murdered.”

“Indeed, no, señor; but you may happen to die. I speak on the Heart; do you hear with the Ears?”

“I hear with the Ears,” he answered, catching my meaning.

“Very well, señor, since you have now sworn secrecy to me by the most solemn oath that can pass the lips of man, I will speak to you openly. This is the tale of the Broken Heart, so far as I know it, though how much of it is truth and how much is legend I cannot say: