“I will tell you, I will tell you,” whispered his parent, looking about him cautiously; “it is the vast hoard of Hendrik Brant which I intend to recover; indeed, my search for it has been at the root of all this trouble. And now, son, you can see how open I have been with you, for if you marry Elsa that money will legally be your property, and I can only claim whatever it may please you to give me. Well, as to that question, in the spirit of the glorious motto of our race, ‘Trust to God and me,’ I shall leave it to your sense of honour, which, whatever its troubles, has never yet failed the house of Montalvo. What does it matter to me who is the legal owner of the stuff, so long as it remains in the family?” “Of course not,” replied Adrian, loftily, “especially as I am not mercenary.” “Ah! well,” went on Ramiro, “we have talked for a long while, and if I continue to live there are affairs to which I ought to attend. You have heard all I have to say, and you have the swords in your hand, and, of course, I am—only your prisoner on parole. So now, my son, be so good as to settle this matter without further delay. Only, if you make up your mind to use the steel, allow me to show you where to thrust, as I do not wish to undergo any unnecessary discomfort”—and he stood before him and bowed in a very courtly and dignified fashion. Adrian looked at him and hesitated. “I don’t trust you,” he said; “you have tricked me once and I daresay that you will trick me again. Also I don’t think much of people who masquerade under false names and lay such traps as you laid to get my evidence against the rest of them. But I am in a bad place and without friends. I want to marry Elsa and recover my position in the world; also, as you know well, I can’t cut the throat of my own father in cold blood,” and he threw down one of the swords. “Your decision is just such as I would have expected from my knowledge of your noble nature, son Adrian,” remarked Ramiro as he picked up his weapon and restored it to the scabbard. “But now, before we enter upon this perfect accord, I have two little stipulations to make on my side.” “What are they?” asked Adrian. “First, that our friendship should be complete, such as ought to exist between a loving father and son, a friendship without reservations. Secondly—this is a condition that I fear you may find harder—but, although fortune has led me into stony paths, and I fear some doubtful expedients, there was always one thing which I have striven to cherish and keep pure, and that in turn has rewarded me for my devotion in many a dangerous hour, my religious belief. Now I am Catholic, and I could wish that my son should be Catholic also; these horrible errors, believe me, are as dangerous to the soul as just now they happen to be fatal to the body. May I hope that you, who were brought up but not born in heresy, will consent to receive instruction in the right faith?”