Episode 3

"Dead," repeated Balthasar; he pushed back his chair and then laughed. "Why—so is my difficulty solved—I am free of that, Theirry."

His companion frowned. "Do you take it so? I think it is pitiful—the fool was so young." He turned to Dirk. "Of what did she die?"

The sculptor sighed, as if weary of the subject. "I know not. She was happy here, yet she died."

Balthasar rose. "Why did you bury her within the house?" he asked half uneasily.

"It was in time of war," answered Dirk. "We did what we could—and she, I think, had wished it."

The Knight turned with a little start and crossed himself. "God grant that she sleep in peace," he cried.

"Amen," said Theirry gravely.

Dirk took a lantern from the wall and lit it from the coals still smouldering on the hearth.

"Now you know all I know of this matter," he remarked. "I thought that some day you might come. I have kept for you her ring—your ring——"

Balthasar interrupted. "I want none of it," he said hastily.

Dirk lifted the lantern; its fluttering flame flushed the twilight with gold. "Will you please to sleep here to-night?" he asked.

The Knight, with his back to the window, assented, in defiance of a secret dislike to the place.

"Follow me," commanded Dirk, then to the other, "I shall be back anon."

"Good rest," nodded Balthasar. "To-morrow we will get horses in the town and start for Cologne."

"Good even," said Theirry.

The Knight went after his host through the silent rooms, up a twisting staircase into a low chamber looking on to the quadrangle. It contained a wooden bedstead covered with a scarlet quilt, a table, and some richly carved chairs; Dirk lit the candles standing on the table, bade his guest a curt good-night and returned to the workroom.

He opened the door of this softly and looked in before he entered. By the window stood Theirry striving to catch the last light on the pages of a little book he held.

Dirk pushed the door wide and stepped in softly. "You love reading?" he said, and his eyes shone.

"Ay—and you?" Thierry asked tentatively.

"Master Lukas left me his manuscripts among his other goods," Dirk answered. "Being much alone—I have—read them."

In the lantern light, that the air breathed from the garden fanned into a flickering glow, the two young men looked at each other. An extraordinary expression, like a guilty excitement, came into the eyes of each.

"Being much alone," whispered Theirry, "with—a dead maid in the house—how have you spent your time?"

Dirk crouched away against the wall; his hair hung lankly over his pallid face. "You—you—pitied her?" he breathed. "You would have come?" questioned Dirk. "When she sent to you?"

"I should have seen no other thing to do," answered Theirry. "What manner of a maid was she?"

"I did think her fair," said Dirk slowly. "She had yellow hair—you may see her likeness in that picture on the wall. But now it is too dark."

Theirry came round the table. "You also follow knowledge?" he inquired eagerly.

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