‘His hope lies in separating him from his mother,’ said the stranger. ‘It may seem unnatural and cruel, but she is too strongly influenced in the traditions of her race to see that the boy’s welfare depends on every means being taken to save him from the curse of his ancestors.’ ‘But how know you all this?’ she answered, somewhat awed, and yet recognising the soundness of his advice. ‘I read it in the stars,’ he answered mysteriously. ‘They are wondrous books in which the past and the future of men can be read for those who have eyes to see.’ Many more questions were asked and answered, and Lady Hilda returned to the castle deeply impressed by the strange man’s manner. Again and again she visited him, and his influence over her became all-powerful. Of course, these visits were secret ones, and she kept her own counsel. The stranger took up his abode in the tower, where there was no fear of his being disturbed, for people had a dread of the ruins, as they said they were haunted. Lady Hilda procured him books and other things that he said he wanted, and she kept him supplied with food and money. During the time that this was taking place she was urging her sister to quit the castle, retire to the capital, and there bring up her son in the shadow of the court. But this the mother strenuously refused to do, while the ill-feeling between her and her sister increased. At last Lady Hilda disappeared, and with her her nephew. She was ultimately traced to Cologne after some months’ absence, and she and the boy were brought back. Within a week of her return she was found dead in her bed. She had been poisoned. The burial of a dead Di Venoni was invariably an imposing sight, and there was no exception in Lady Hilda’s case. None of the mummery and pomp and ceremony were omitted, and for three days the body lay in state in the great entrance hall, and those who were entrusted with watching the corpse at night averred that one night as the great bell of the castle was tolling the solemn midnight hour a peculiar dark-eyed man suddenly appeared. There was something so weird and strange in his appearance that they were dumbfounded with horror, and their horror was increased when they saw him lift the shrouded corpse from its coffin, press it to his breast, fondle it and kiss it, and lavish upon it all the manifestations of extreme love and affection. At last he replaced the body and disappeared as mysteriously as he came. This wonderful story soon spread from lip to lip, with additions and exaggerations, and great was the consternation when, as the unhappy lady was being borne to the burial vault of the Di Venoni in the neighbouring church, the remarkable stranger was recognised amongst the crowd. He seemed bowed in sorrow, but when an attempt was made to seize him he avoided it, and, as everyone declared, made himself invisible.