“I am not proud,” I said, “and my sense of obligation is already greater than ever I can hope to discharge.”

“I thank you, my lad,” he said.  “Often have I wished for a son of the flesh like you as you passed the window with your companions—­but go, go!”

And with his hand he pushed me out upon the stair-head and shut the door.

For a space I knew not where I stood.  For what with the turmoil of my thoughts and the myriad of impressions, hopes, fears, visions, regrets to leave the Red Tower, the city of Thorn, the hope of seeing again that high-poised head of burned gold of the Lady Ysolinde, I paused stock-still, moidered and dazed, till a light hand touched me on the shoulder and the soft, even voice spoke in my ear.

“Master Hugo,” said the Lady Ysolinde, bending kindly to me, “I am glad, very glad—­aye, though you have made my head ache” (here she nodded blamefully and laid her hand upon her heart as if that ached too)—­“it is the best of fortunes, and sure to come true.  Because have I seen it at six o’clock of a Thursday in the time of full moon.”

“Come hither,” she said, beckoning me; “we shall try another way of it yet, in spite of the headache.  It may be that there is more that concerns you for me to see in the ink-pool.”

With this she took my hand and almost pulled me down the stairs by force.  As we went I saw the wild head and staring eyeballs of Jan the Lubber Fiend peering at us.  He was lying on the back staircase, prone on his stomach, apparently extending from top to bottom down the swirl of it, and with his chin poised on the topmost step.  But as we came down the stair the head seemed to be wholly detached from any body.  The red ears actually flapped with mirthful pleasure and anticipation at the sight of the Lady Ysolinde, and no man could see both the beginning and end of that smile.

“Lubber Jan,” said she, “go and sit in the yard.  The servants will be complaining of thee again, that they cannot come up the staircase, even as they did before.”

“Then, if I do,” mumbled the monster, “will you look out of window at least once in each hour, between every stroke of the clock.  Else will Jan not stop in the yard, but come within to feast his eyes on thee.”

“Yes, Jan,” she said, smiling with a gentle complaisance which made me like her somewhat better than before, “I will look out at least once in the hour.”

And turning a little she smiled again at me, still holding me by the hand.  The Lubber Fiend pulled his forelock, and reaching downward his head, as if he had the power of stretching out his neck like an arm, he kissed the cold pavement where her foot had rested a moment before.  Then he rather retracted himself, serpentwise, then betook him in Christian fashion down the stair, and we heard him move out amid a babel of servatorial recriminations into the outer yard.

“A poor innocent,” said the Lady Ysolinde; “one that worships me, as you see.  He is so great of stature and so uncouth that the children persecute him, and some day he may do one of them an injury.  Years ago I rescued him from an evil pack of them and brought him hither.  So that is the reason why he cleaves to me.”