He hesitated a moment before he answered the summons, but then, whatever had caused his hesitation, he became reassured, and, without inquiring who was without, he drew the door open. A cavalier, little taller than himself, and muffled in a long cloak, appeared in the doorway, and demanded to know if that were the residence of Master Craftall. “It is,” answered Craftall: “I am he.” “I would speak with thee apart, then,” replied the cavalier. And though Craftall proffered him no invitation to enter, he pushed rudely by him, and passed into the chamber. “Be not afeard,” he said; “but close the door. I am a friend.” There was something in the stranger’s manner that, in spite of himself, overawed Craftall, and he obeyed his injunction without hesitation. “Now, prithee lead me to holy father Paul,” pursued the stranger, when Craftall had closed the door. The recusant merchant started. “I tell thee, I am a friend,” continued the stranger. “Were I aught else, would I come to thee by night, and alone? I am a foreigner, a true son of the church, by name Felix di Corva.” Craftall pointed to the inner door of the room. “Thou wilt find him in the chamber beyond,” he said. Don Felix--for the stranger was indeed he--made no reply, but hastened towards the door pointed at. He did not pause to knock, but, on arriving at the door, opened it at once, and passed in. As he crossed the threshold, he drew the door close behind him. Craftall remained perfectly still till the door was closed, when, with a stealthy step, he also proceeded thitherwards. On reaching it, however, he did not draw it open, but, bending on one knee, knelt down before it, and applied his ear to the keyhole. He continued in this posture till, after an interval of about half an hour, a noise within induced him to rise, and retreat to the contiguous desk. Just as he arrived at the desk, the door was opened from within, and Don Felix reappeared. Craftall pretended to be startled on his entry; but the Spaniard, full of other thoughts, took no heed of him, but passed across the chamber in silence. On reaching the outer door, he turned round, and bade the wondering merchant a good-night. “God-den, Sir!” replied Craftall. “May our Lady and St. Bridget”-- He paused; for Don Felix, not looking for a response, had passed out, and closed the door in his rear. On being thus left to himself, Craftall mused a few moments, when, though it was contrary to his habit, he began to deliver his thoughts aloud. “A week hence,” he said; “and the holy father is to go the night afore. ’Twill just serve me. We shall sail the same night.”