"_Tendit ad astra!_" cried my lord. Then bending across the table, "Thou shouldst see this lady. Did I not fear that she would entangle that black heart of thine in her golden tresses, I would take thee in disguise with me to London, and show thee this wondrous beauty." "No fear of that," rejoined DeNortier, a grim smile of amusement upon his countenance. "Would the lady prefer a worn old warrior, his neck resting uneasily upon his shoulders, to a noble of England, handsome, rich, accomplished?" and he drummed his fingers restlessly upon the table, his legs sprawled out before him. "Thou flatterest me, my friend, and underratest thyself. The lady would look twice before she refused thee." And Dunraven looked at his companion. Truly they were a striking pair as they sat together beneath the candlelight, and thou couldst have searched Europe, and not have found their match for comeliness and martial bearing. Dunraven, with his broad shoulders, his striking face, his proud pose, dark brown hair and beard; the Spaniard, more slender, but quicker, more agile, his jet-black hair and beard gleaming like the wing of a crow in the light. They were a dangerous couple. DeNortier was the leopard, restless, cunning, lurking ready to spring at a moment's warning--not so big as his bulky companion, but with muscles of steel; Dunraven, bigger, heavier, clumsier, but more powerful--the bear. Woe to the creature that he locked in his iron arms; he would crush the life from him, even as a vise. They both now sat silent and motionless, wrapped in their own thoughts, neither breaking the deep silence that reigned in the room. Quick steps sounded upon the floor outside. A loud rap upon the door, and then another. "What is it?" DeNortier cried, springing to his feet and catching up his sword, which lay upon the floor beside him. "The sentry swears that he saw the gleam of the moonlight upon a sail, captain," a gruff voice answered. "The fiends!" cried the adventurer. Then turning to Dunraven, who had risen to his feet, he whispered rapidly, "Down the stairs into the passageway--quick! Wait for me there; I will join thee as soon as I can," and he stepped forward to unbolt the door. Hampden dashed behind the tapestry. "Where?" he cried. "What passageway?" and he looked at the floor about him. "I forgot," DeNortier answered, "that thou dost not know the secret." Crossing the room and pushing aside the tapestry, he knelt a moment upon the floor and pressed his hand against it. There was a quick click, and slowly the trap door rose. Hampden sprang through it. I held my breath, my unsheathed sword in hand. Surely they must see me; but no, they were too much engaged. DeNortier sprang up as soon as the trap door yawned open, and rushing over to the door, unlocked and opened it. It slammed to behind him, and he ran down the hall, the sailor following.