“That is a riddle, but I think I see an answer at any rate to half of it. Then the marriage would still take place, but with another bridegroom.” “Another bridegroom! Who?” “Your humble and devoted adorer.” Elsa shuddered and recoiled a step. “Ah!” he said, “I should not have bowed, you saw my white hairs—to the young a hateful sight.” Elsa’s indignation rose, and she answered: “It is not your white hair that I shrink from, Señor, which in some would be a crown of honour, but——” “In my case suggests to you other reflections. Be gentle and spare me them. In a world of rough actions, what need to emphasise them with rough words?” For a few minutes there was silence, which Ramiro, glancing out of the lattice, broke by remarking that “The snowfall was extraordinarily heavy for the time of year.” Then followed another silence. “I understood you just now, dear lady, to make some sort of suggestion which might lead to an arrangement satisfactory to both of us. The exact locality of this wealth is at present obscure—you mentioned some clue. Are you in a position to furnish such a clue?” “If I am in a position, what then?” “Then, perhaps, after a few days visit to an interesting, but little explored part of Holland, you might return to your friends as you left them—in short as a single woman.” A struggle shook Elsa, and do what she would some trace of it appeared in her face. “Do you swear that?” she whispered. “Most certainly.” “Do you swear before God that if you have this clue you will not force me into a marriage with the Heer Adrian, or with yourself—that you will let me go, unharmed?” “I swear it—before God.” “Knowing that God will be revenged upon you if you break the oath, you still swear?” “I still swear. Why these needless repetitions?” “Then—then,” and she leant towards him, speaking in a hoarse whisper, “believing that you, even you, will not dare to be false to such an oath, for you, even you, must fear death, a miserable death, and vengeance, eternal vengeance, I give you the clue: It lies in the hilt of the sword Silence.” “The sword Silence? What sword is that?” “The great sword of Red Martin.” Stirred out of his self-control, Ramiro struck his hand upon his knee. “And to think,” he said, “that for over twelve hours I had it hanging on the wall of the Gevangenhuis! Well, I fear that I must ask you to be more explicit. Where is this sword?” “Wherever Red Martin is, that is all I know. I can tell you no more; the plan of the hiding-place is there.” “Or was there. Well, I believe you, but to win a secret from the hilt of the sword of the man who broke his way out of the torture-chamber of the Gevangenhuis, is a labour that would have been not unworthy of Hercules. First, Red Martin must be found, then his sword must be taken, which, I think, will cost men their lives. Dear lady, I am obliged for your information, but I fear that the marriage must still go through.”