“Bring hither a virgin,” he said.  “The heart’s blood of a virgin is necessary to our schemes, as I have told thee many times.  How can I give thee gold, and thou wilt not obey my instructions?”

“Villain!” cried the Treasurer, beside himself.  “Thou hast taken my gold, thou hast made me take the gold of my master also for thy schemes.  Wouldst thou have me shed innocent blood?”

“I tell thee again, without it our experiments are vain.”

At that moment the door was flung open and the Treasurer emerged, too immersed in his anxious thoughts to perceive the shrinking form of Elizabeth.  She, when he had gone from sight, entered the chamber where stood the pilgrim.

“I have heard thy conversation,” she said, “and I am ready to give my life for my father’s welfare.  Tell me what I must do and I will slay me with mine own hand.”

With covetous glance the pilgrim advanced and strove to take her hand, but she shrank back in loathing.

“Touch me not,” she said, shuddering.

A look of malice overspread the pilgrim’s averted face.

“Come hither at midnight, and at sunrise thy father will be rich and honoured,” he said.

“Wilt thou swear it on the cross?”

“I swear it,” he returned, drawing a little crucifix from his bosom, and speaking in solemn tones.

“Very well, I promise.”  And with that she withdrew.

When she had gone the alchemist pressed a spring in the crucifix, when a dagger fell out.

“Thou hast served me well,” he said, chuckling.  Then, replacing the crucifix in his breast, he entered the adjoining room, prised up a stone from the floor, and drew forth a leathern bag full of gold.  This, then, was the crucible into which the Archbishop’s pieces had gone.  “I have found the secret of making gold,” pursued the pilgrim.  “To-morrow my wealth and I will be far away in safety.  The fools, to seek gold in a crucible!”

Meanwhile preparations were afoot for the reception of the Archbishop.  Elizabeth, full of grief and determination, supervised the work of the serving-maids, while her father anxiously wondered how he should account to his master for the stolen pieces of gold.

The Archbishop was loudly hailed on his arrival.  He greeted his Treasurer kindly and asked after the pretty Elizabeth.  When her father presented her he in turn introduced her to his guests, and many a glance of admiration was directed at the gentle maid.  One young knight, in particular, was so smitten with her charms that he was dumb the whole evening.

When Elizabeth retired to her chamber her father bade her good-night.  Hope had again arisen in his breast.

“To-morrow,” he said, “my troubles will be over.”  Elizabeth sighed.

At length the hour of midnight arrived.  Taking a lamp, the girl crossed the courtyard to where the alchemist awaited her coming.  She was not unseen, however; the young knight had been watching her window, and he observed her pass through the courtyard with surprise.  Fearing he knew not what harm to the maid he loved, he followed her to the pilgrim’s apartment, and there watched her through a crack in the door.