“By Saint George!” he cried, with a start of surprise, “I believe that they have all gone mad! If here is not the viceroy requesting me to proceed to Bergen. He says it is on urgent business, by order of the king. A fine time this to transact urgent business! ‘The lord chancellor, now travelling in the province of Throndhjem, will take your place during your absence.’ Here’s a substitute in whom I have no confidence! ‘The bishop will assist him--’ Really, these are excellent governors that Frederic chooses for a country in a state of revolt,--two gentlemen of the cloth, a chancellor, and a bishop! Well, no matter, the invitation is express; it is the order of the king. Needs must obey; but before I go I must see Schumacker and question him. I am sure that there is a plot to involve me in a network of intrigue; but I have one unerring compass,--my conscience.” XXI. The voice of thy slain brother’s blood cries out, Even from the ground, unto the Lord! _Cain: A Mystery._ “Yes, Count; it was this very day, in Arbar ruin, that we were told he might be found. Countless circumstances lead me to believe in the truth of this valuable information which I accidentally picked up yesterday, as I told you, at Oëlmœ village.” “Are we far from this Arbar ruin?” “It is close by Lake Miösen. The guide assures me that we shall be there before noon.” These words were spoken by two horsemen muffled in brown cloaks, who early one morning were pursuing one of the many narrow, winding paths which run in every direction through the forest lying between Lakes Miösen and Sparbo. A mountain guide, provided with a huntinghorn and an axe, led the way upon his little gray pony, and behind the travellers rode four men armed to the teeth, toward whom these two persons occasionally turned, as if afraid of being overheard. “If that Iceland thief is really lurking in Arbar ruin,” said one rider, whose steed kept a respectful distance behind the other, “it is a great point gained; for the difficulty hitherto has been to find this mysterious being.” “Do you think so, Musdœmon? And suppose he declines our offers?” “Impossible, your Grace! What brigand could resist gold and a free pardon?” “But you know that this is no common scoundrel. Do not judge him by yourself. If he should refuse, how can you keep your promise of night before last to the three leaders of the insurrection?” “Well, noble Count, in that case, which I regard as impossible if we are lucky enough to find our man, has your Grace forgotten that a false Hans of Iceland awaits me two days hence at the hour and place appointed for meeting the three chiefs, at Blue Star, a place, moreover, conveniently near Arbar ruin?” “You are right, my dear Musdœmon, as usual,” said the count; and each resumed his own particular line of thought. Musdœmon, whose interest it was to keep his master in good humor, for the purpose of diverting him, asked the guide a question.