Before him, on the other side of the fire, stood a little man with folded arms. By his dress of blood-stained skins, his stone axe, his red beard, and the ravenous stare fastened on his face, the wretched keeper at once recognized the frightful character whose last visit he had received in the Spladgest at Throndhjem. “It is I!” said the little man, with terrible calmness. “That casket will save you,” he added with a bitterly sarcastic smile. “Spiagudry, is this the way to Thoctree?” The unfortunate man tried to stammer a word of excuse. “Thoctree! Sir--My lord and master,--I was going--” “You were going to Walderhog,” replied the other, in a voice of thunder. The terrified Spiagudry mustered all his forces to deny the charge. “You were guiding an enemy to my retreat. I thank you! ’Twill be one living man the less. Fear nothing, faithful guide; he shall follow you.” The luckless keeper strove to shriek, but could with difficulty utter a feeble moan. “Why are you so frightened at my presence? You were seeking me. Hark ye! Do not speak, or you are a dead man.” The little man swung his stone axe above the keeper’s head. He added, in a voice which sounded like the roar of a mountain torrent as it bursts from some subterranean cave: “You have betrayed me.” “No, your Grace! No, your Excellency!” gasped Benignus, scarcely able to articulate these words of apology and entreaty. The other gave vent to a low growl. “Ah! you would deceive me again! Hope not to succeed. Listen! I was on the roof of the Spladgest when you sealed your compact with that mad fool; twice you have heard my voice. It was my voice you heard amid the storm upon your road; it was I whom you met in Vygla tower; it was I who said, ‘We shall meet again!’” The terrified keeper looked about him in despair, as if to summon help. The little man went on: “I could not let those soldiers who pursued you, escape my wrath; they belonged to the Munkholm regiment. I knew that I should not lose you. Spiagudry, it was I whom you saw again in Oëlmœ village beneath the miner’s hat; it was my footstep and my voice that you heard, and my eyes that you saw as you climbed to these ruins. It was I!” Alas! the unfortunate man was but too well convinced of these dreadful truths. He rolled upon the ground at the feet of his fearful judge, crying in faint and agonizing accents, “Mercy!” The little man, his arms still folded, fixed upon him a murderous look, more scorching even than the flames upon the hearth. “Ask that casket to save you, as you said it would do,” he said sarcastically. “Mercy, sir, mercy!” repeated the expiring victim. “I warned you to be faithful and to be dumb. You have not been faithful; but in future I protest that you shall be dumb.” The keeper, grasping the horrible meaning of these words, uttered a deep groan. “Fear nothing,” said the man; “I will not part you from your treasure.”