“Lord Schumacker,” said the officer, “you abused the privileges of your age, and I might have abused the privileges of my youth, if you had not found a champion. I enter your prison this morning for the last time, for I come to tell you that you may henceforth remain, by special order of the viceroy, free and unguarded in this donjon. Receive this good news from the lips of an enemy.” “Go!” said the old prisoner, in a hollow voice. The lieutenant bowed and obeyed, inwardly pleased that he had won the approving glance of Ordener. Schumacker sat for some time with folded arms and bent head, buried in thought. Suddenly he looked up at Ordener, who stood before him in silence. “Well?” said he. “My lord Count, Dispolsen was murdered.” The old man’s head again drooped upon his breast. Ordener went on: “His assassin is a noted robber,--Hans of Iceland.” “Hans of Iceland!” said Schumacker. “Hans of Iceland!” repeated Ethel. “He robbed the captain,” added Ordener. “And so,” said the old man, “you heard nothing of an iron casket, sealed with the arms of Griffenfeld?” “No, my lord.” Schumacker hid his face in his hands. “I will restore it to you, my lord Count; trust me. The murder was committed yesterday morning. Hans fled toward the north. I have a guide who knows all his haunts. I have often roamed through the mountains of Throndhjem. I shall overtake the thief.” Ethel turned pale. Schumacker rose; his expression was almost joyful, as if he believed that virtue still existed in men. “Noble Ordener,” he said, “farewell.” And raising his hand to heaven, he disappeared among the bushes. As Ordener turned, he saw Ethel upon the moss-grown rock, pale as an alabaster image on a black pedestal. “Good God, Ethel!” he cried, rushing to her and supporting her in his arms, “what is the matter?” “Oh!” replied the trembling girl in scarcely audible tones. “Oh, if you have, I do not say a spark of love, but of pity for me, sir, if you did not speak yesterday only to deceive me, if it be not to cause my death that you have deigned to enter this prison, Lord Ordener, my Ordener, give up, in Heaven’s name, in the name of all the angels,--give up your mad scheme! Ordener, my beloved Ordener!” she continued,--and her tears flowed freely, her head rested on the young man’s breast,--“make this sacrifice for me. Do not follow this robber, this frightful demon, with whom you would fight. In whose interest do you go, Ordener? Tell me, what interest can be dearer to you than that of the wretched woman whom but yesterday you called your beloved wife?” She stopped, choked by sobs. Both arms were thrown around Ordener’s neck, and her pleading eyes were fixed upon his. “My adored Ethel, you are needlessly alarmed. God helps the righteous cause, and the interest in which I expose myself is no other than your own. That iron casket contains--” Ethel interrupted him: “My interest! Have I any other interest than your life? Ordener, what will become of me?”