"The gate was locked; nobody knows who let him in. He has terrified the warden with his royal authority. They are searching throughout the whole castle, and will pull it down if they do not find the girl. I expect them here every instant, as they have seen the light from the court. If you would not betray yourself to the people, escape by the secret passage, sire. Command it so, and I shall take the blame, and suffer myself, farther, to be taken prisoner by the drost." "Right, my trusty Rané. The thought is worth gold. Lock the concealed door after me. Are our people at the back gate?" "All is in perfect order and security, sir knight," said the young man-at-arms, with emphasis, winking; "and not a soul can know that you have been here, if she, there, can be silent:" here he pointed dubiously towards Aasé, who stood looking with a wild, flashing eye from the window. "Tarry no longer, sire. I hear them upon the tower-stairs." "Betray, with a single word, whom you have seen, and you are dead!" whispered the nobleman, hurriedly, to the terrified maiden; and, in an instant, he had disappeared through a concealed door in the panel. The young soldier hastily withdrew the key from the door, and flung it, from the window, into the back court; he then fell in a supplicating posture at the young girl's feet. "Have pity on an unhappy lover, fair, good-natured Aasé. Thou incomparable fisher-maid," he began, in a shrill, piping voice, "for thy sake, I have exposed myself to the greatest danger, and to the anger of our righteous king; for thy sake, I dared to make use of the king's name, when I took thee prisoner." "And, for thy sake, I will soil my fingers upon such an abominable hag's face," answered the girl, giving him a few hearty boxes on the ear, which he appeared to take patiently, continuing, the while, to set forth his feigned love tale. He was still talking in the same strain, and had laid hold of Aasé's apron, when Drost Peter and his squire, together with the warden and a band of armed fishermen, entered the door. "In the king's name, Chamberlain Rané, you are my prisoner," said Drost Peter: "bind him, lads!" The page rose, as it taken by surprise. "Stern sir drost," he said, with an impudent smile, "you best know yourself the power of beauty over the heart, without distinction of rank or station. You have detected me in an indiscretion, which, at our time of life, one does wisest to judge with forbearance. At most, you have seen with what little success I have sought to tame this lovely wild-cat. If you venture on taking me prisoner, good: our common lord shall decide which of us is the more blameworthy."