“One thing is sure,” replied his master. “St. Vincent will not return.” Instantly I drew aside the curtain and stood in the doorway. “Patroon Van Volkenberg.” He started violently at the sound of my voice, and turned towards me. Then his hands flew up before his eyes and he uttered a scream. “My God, my God, it is his ghost. Go back, go back! Louis, try if it be real. Get your sword. Give me mine. Stop it. Hold, hold; stop it. For God’s sake, Louis, get between.” I had come two steps forward, and my approach seemed to drive him crazy. He backed off, holding one hand over his eyes, and waving his sword with the other. “Can you speak? Why are you so silent? Who are you? What is your name?” “Henrie St. Vincent.” “You are dead. Have you come to call me hence? Begone. I am not ready yet. I have accounts still to settle. Away, Sir Evelin. Help me, help; call my daughter, call Miriam.” He caught himself up at the last word and stopped. He was gasping for breath, clutching his hands tight together in the vain attempt to force upon himself the mastery of his passion. Suddenly he called out again. “Bring my daughter; fetch Miriam or I shall die.” While Louis went in search of her I remained at his side. He was moaning pitifully and calling upon his daughter. Now and then he uttered disjointed sentences. “I must not let her know—the Marmadukes—do not look at me with those fearful eyes—I did not kill you—the pretty Ruth—she knew my secret.” And so he raved. Remorse—ah, I too know its bitter taste—remorse was conquering where no other foe could conquer. I bowed my head in silence and departed; this was no place for me. I left him with his daughter. With this sudden visitation all my plans had vanished. I had sought his room intending to defy him to the utmost and to make him fight, and thus it had all ended. Yet I have not told you half, nor half of half. I cannot till this day forget the look of fear and horror on his face when he saw me, whom he thought dead, standing before him like a spirit from another world. No, I could not wish even my worst enemy the anguish he felt at that moment. Then, as Miriam bent over him, with her sweet pleading face I realized that it was her father I was hounding to his death. That was a deeper cut than all. I knew that a man cannot serve two masters. Could I serve two mistresses—or three? Could I avenge Ruth, serve Lady Marmaduke, and protect Miriam all at the same time? How had I kept my promise to Annetje? I was in this sullen humor when I met the dwarf in the hall. “What did you come back for?” he cried angrily. “I saved your life and now you have lost me mine. Do you think life is sweet only to you? Does my ill-shaped figure, think you, have no love of the green earth? Ungrateful!” “What do you mean?”