"It is not worth wasting time upon," he exclaimed, suddenly, and proceeded to remount. "Whoever chooses may descend. Run thou, Rané: it was thou who had so much to tell me of this lime-quarry." "It is certainly worth seeing, sir king," replied Rané, as he zealously prepared himself to descend, along with a number of huntsmen and falconers. Old Sir John had also dismounted; and, taking a torch, he examined the pit with much interest, but without venturing down. "It was a good capture, Drost Peter," observed the king, as they rode leisurely on: "they were a daring and dangerous band. This famous Niels Breakpeace shall not again escape; for, before sunset, they shall all be executed. We can thus sleep soundly to-night, and begin the chase early in the morning." Drost Peter remained mute. "Why are you silent?" continued the king. "Have they not been seized by yourself in the open commission of robbery? Such fellows deserve not a long trial." "They arc all punishable with death," replied Drost Peter, "but it is still desirable that they were allowed time to shrive themselves, and look to the salvation of their sinful souls." "The time will not permit," replied the king. "I shall not sleep under the same roof with robbers and murderers. If I am to be your guest, Drost Hessel, these malefactors must sleep on the wheel to-night." "If you command it, sir king, they can be conducted this evening to Viborg prison, and you need neither rest under the same roof with them, nor consign them to so sudden a doom. There are men amongst them born to something better than to end their lives so shamefully and unexpectedly." "None are born to that," replied the king, musingly. "If one could know what was sung at his cradle, if it had any meaning," he continued, "I should be glad to learn what was sung at ours: it would be well to know that in these times. Is there any one of note among them?" "There is one of them, at least, who belongs not to the outcasts of humanity--in whom there is still left a remnant of honour and of lofty mind; and whose soul, perhaps, may still be saved. His birth and rank are certainly now his strongest accusers: he is of high and noble blood, and from your own royal hand, sir king, he had the honour to receive the stroke of knighthood." "That does not plead for him, truly. There you are right. He must die: a noble-born knight deserves to be punished with tenfold severity, when found among robbers and highwaymen. Who is he?" "Sir Lavé Rimaardson--your noble queen's kinsman, and brother of the trusty Bent Rimaardson." The king started, and drawing up his horse, he threw on Drost Peter a scrutinising glance, in which, as he blinked uneasily, a secret suspicion might be traced. "The queen's kinsman, say you?" he exclaimed--"the outlaw, Lavé Rimaardson?--he who has dared to defy me, and to stir up the peasants to rebellion?--he whom you yourself assisted to adjudge an outlaw?" "Even he, sir king."