"You are right, sir drost," muttered Thorstenson, sheathing his sword; "niddings are never safer than when they go unarmed amongst honest men. Let us now make a rush at the door together, and it may give way. Put forth your strength, sir commandant, and let us see you do not spare your boot-heels. You can then say, for your honour, that you have fought with your heels." Without answering this sarcasm, Sir Lavé, apparently with his utmost effort, together with the three other knights, applied themselves to the iron-studded door. The united shock made a fearful noise, which rolled like thunder among the arches of the lonely tower; but as the door turned inwards, and was provided with strong oaken posts, it was not to be forced open in this fashion. Greatly embittered, Thorstenson went to the window-grating, and shouted, as if he would awaken the dead--"Up hither, fellow! or it may cost your master, the commandant, his life." But there was no reply. The restless Sound roared loudly beneath, and no sign of a human being was to be seen on this side the tower, in the stormy, murky night. In the meantime, Lady Ingé, in her father's absence, had taken care of the last-arrived guests, and invited them to the newly-furnished board. As soon as the duke and his followers observed that their cautious host had rid them of unexpected and disagreeable company, they relied upon his cunning, and resolved to await his return, or, at least, to remain quiet until Niels Breakpeace brought word that they might set sail. They had thrown aside their gray cloaks, and shown themselves, before their fair hostess, in their dress as knights. The young duke, with politeness and princely grace, took his seat at table, and on the young hostess' left hand. Sir Abildgaard took Rimaardson's vacated seat; and the daring Norse freebooter stretched himself rudely on the chair where Thorstenson had been sitting. The strangers had not announced themselves; but, on their entrance, Lady Ingé had heard Rimaardson's subdued exclamation of surprise--'The duke!' and she surmised, with secret dread, that one of them must be the, to her, hateful Duke Waldemar of South Jutland. Any other duke she had not heard mentioned; and what was told her of Duke Waldemar's ambitious and dangerous designs against the crown and kingdom, had inspired her with so unfavourable an opinion of this personage, that she had conceived as repulsive a picture of his appearance as was possible. When she heard him mentioned among her father's new guests, it inspired her with so much fear, that she had difficulty in concealing it; and, when her father left the room with the three other gentlemen, it cost her a great effort to fulfil, with apparent calmness, her duties as mistress of the house, towards these dangerous visitors, whose secret connection with her father filled her soul with painful alarm.