"How, Tuko! Wouldst thou not despise me were I to subscribe this agreement?" "Far be such a thought from me, sir. It is a foolish bird that will not fly when the cage is open. See: there lies the crowbar, that, without witchcraft, can break these walls. The good drost has left you here his silver style: a single stroke on the parchment with this enchanter's wand, and our prison is open; the fair, wide world lies before us; we withdraw from this unfortunate country, till we can say thanks to the King of Denmark for this last good turn. We shall find a welcome with the Duke of Saxony, and how will not the fair Princess Sophia be rejoiced--" "Hold, tempter, hold!" exclaimed the duke, advancing towards him. "Is this thy constancy, Tuko? this thy inspiration for my lofty, distant aim? What matters it that the bird is free, when its wings are clipped for life? If thou art weary of sharing my lot, I can easily set thee free. Swear thyself to the foul fiend, and go! I shall remain." "You mistake me, my noble duke," replied Tuko, seriously. "I have shared your captivity, and been happy, even to this hour. I shall furthermore share it, without complaining, as long as you please. The main point I have not lost sight of. You have yourself discovered how you can reach it without moving a hand; and your conscience can be easily reconciled to your freedom. Will you hear me?" "Nay, nay--not one word will I hear. Leave me now, Tuko: to-morrow thou shalt know my determination. This concerns myself, and my whole future life, and I will myself cast the die that is to decide it. Neither thou nor any other man shall guide my will in this matter." Sir Abildgaard was silent, and retired to his own cell. The duke closed the intermediate door, and barred it with the stone. He then threw himself upon his chair, and indulged in gloomy thought. Thus he sat, motionless, the whole day, and without allowing any one to enter, or partaking of any refreshment. In the fortress, all was quiet as usual. Before the sun went down, his cogitations were disturbed for a moment by the sound of horses' feet in the castle-court. It was Drost Peter and his squire leaving the castle. The duke rose, and went to the grating. His hand was clenched convulsively, when he saw, in the rays of the setting sun, the young drost, free and vigorous, managing his brown steed. The princely prisoner heaved a deep sigh, closed the shutter before the grating, and, turning into the darkest nook of his cell, he threw himself upon his unmade bed.