At length a courier arrived with tidings of the approach of the Archbishop, who was bringing some noble guests to the castle. To the dismay of his daughter, the Treasurer suddenly turned pale and, brushing aside her solicitous inquiries, fled to the mysterious chamber. Elizabeth followed, convinced that something had occurred to upset her father seriously. She was too late--the door was locked ere she reached it; but she could hear angry voices within, the voices of her father and the pilgrim. The Treasurer seemed to be uttering bitter reproaches, while ever and anon the deep, level voice of his companion could be heard. "Bring hither a virgin," he said. "The heart's blood of a virgin is necessary to our schemes, as I have told thee many times. How can I give thee gold, and thou wilt not obey my instructions?" "Villain!" cried the Treasurer, beside himself. "Thou hast taken my gold, thou hast made me take the gold of my master also for thy schemes. Wouldst thou have me shed innocent blood?" "I tell thee again, without it our experiments are vain." At that moment the door was flung open and the Treasurer emerged, too immersed in his anxious thoughts to perceive the shrinking form of Elizabeth. She, when he had gone from sight, entered the chamber where stood the pilgrim. "I have heard thy conversation," she said, "and I am ready to give my life for my father's welfare. Tell me what I must do and I will slay me with mine own hand." With covetous glance the pilgrim advanced and strove to take her hand, but she shrank back in loathing. "Touch me not," she said, shuddering. A look of malice overspread the pilgrim's averted face. "Come hither at midnight, and at sunrise thy father will be rich and honoured," he said. "Wilt thou swear it on the cross?" "I swear it," he returned, drawing a little crucifix from his bosom, and speaking in solemn tones. "Very well, I promise." And with that she withdrew. When she had gone the alchemist pressed a spring in the crucifix, when a dagger fell out. "Thou hast served me well," he said, chuckling. Then, replacing the crucifix in his breast, he entered the adjoining room, prised up a stone from the floor, and drew forth a leathern bag full of gold. This, then, was the crucible into which the Archbishop's pieces had gone. "I have found the secret of making gold," pursued the pilgrim. "To-morrow my wealth and I will be far away in safety. The fools, to seek gold in a crucible!" Meanwhile preparations were afoot for the reception of the Archbishop. Elizabeth, full of grief and determination, supervised the work of the serving-maids, while her father anxiously wondered how he should account to his master for the stolen pieces of gold.