Adrian told him with much emphasis, and the recital of his adventures seemed to move the Master deeply, at any rate he turned away, hiding his face in his hands, while his back trembled with the intensity of his feelings. “The matter is grave,” he said solemnly, when at length the lovesick and angry swain had finished. “There is but one thing to be done. Your treacherous rival—oh! what fraud and deceit are hidden beneath that homely countenance—has been well advised, by whom I know not, though I suspect one, a certain practitioner of the Black Magic, named Arentz——” “Ah!” ejaculated Adrian. “I see you know the man. Beware of him. He is, indeed, a wolf in sheep’s clothing, who wraps his devilish incantations in a cloak of seditious doctrine. Well, I have thwarted him before, for can Darkness stand before Light? and, by the help of those who aid me, I may thwart him again. Now, attend and answer my questions clearly, slowly and truthfully. If the girl is to be saved to you, mark this, young friend, your cunning rival must be removed from Leyden for a while until the charm works out its power.” “You don’t mean—” said Adrian, and stopped. “No, no. I mean the man no harm. I mean only that he must take a journey, which he will do fast enough, when he learns that his witchcrafts and other crimes are known. Now answer, or make an end, for I have more business to attend to than the love-makings of a foo—of a headstrong youth. First: What you have told me of the attendances of Dirk van Goorl, your stepfather, and others of his household, namely, Red Martin and your half-brother Foy, at the tabernacle of your enemy, the wizard Arentz, is true, is it not?” “Yes,” answered Adrian, “but I do not see what that has to do with the matter.” “Silence!” thundered the Master. Then he paused a while, and Adrian seemed to hear certain strange squeakings proceeding from the walls. The sage remained lost in thought until the squeakings ceased. Again he spoke: “What you have told me of the part played by the said Foy and the said Martin as to their sailing away with the treasure of the dead heretic, Hendrik Brant, and of the murders committed by them in the course of its hiding in the Haarlemer Meer, is true, is it not?” “Of course it is,” answered Adrian, “but——” “Silence!” again thundered the sage, “or by my Lord Zoroaster, I throw up the case.” Adrian collapsed, and there was another pause. “You believe,” he went on again, “that the said Foy and the said Dirk van Goorl, together with the said Martin, are making preparations to abduct that innocent and unhappy maid, the heiress, Elsa Brant, for evil purposes of their own?” “I never told you so,” said Adrian, “but I think it is a fact; at least there is a lot of packing going on.” “You never told me! Do you not understand that there is no need for you to tell me anything?” “Then, in the name of your Lord Zoroaster, why do you ask?” exclaimed the exasperated Adrian.