“Have you seen the captain?” Charlie asked eagerly.

“Yes.  I was stopped by some sentries, a quarter of a mile away, and was kept there while my guide came on and got permission of the captain for me to be brought in.  When I met him, I had no great difficulty in persuading him to let me stop, for Mr. Ramsay had given me fifty rix-dollars to give him; and so, your honour, here I am, and here is a letter from Mr. Ramsay himself.”

“I cannot tell you how glad I am to have you, Stanislas.  I am getting better, but I am so weak that I took five hours, yesterday, to get six miles.  Now I have got you to talk to, I shall pick up strength faster than I have been doing, for it has been very dull work having no one who could understand me.  There is only one man here who understands a word of Swedish.”

“We will soon get you round, sir, never fear.  I have brought with me four casks of wine.  They were left at the place where the cart stopped last night, but the captain has sent off men already to bring them in.  You will be all the better for a suit of clean clothes.”

“That I shall.  It is a month now since I had a change, and my jerkin is all stained with blood.  I want a wash more than anything; for there was no water near the hut, and the charcoal burner used to bring in a small keg from a spring he passed on his way to his work.  That was enough for drinking, but not enough for washing—­a matter which never seemed to have entered into his head, or that of the Jew, as being in the slightest degree necessary.”

“There is a well just outside,” Stanislas said.  “I saw them drawing water in buckets as we came in.  I suppose it was the well of this castle, in the old time.”

“I will go and have a wash, and change my clothes the first thing,” Charlie said.  “Mr. Ramsay’s letter will keep till after that.”

They went out to the well together.

“So you heard the story, that I had killed Ben Soloman, before you left?”

“Yes; before your letter arrived, Mr. Ramsay sent for me, and told me a Jewish trader had just informed him that news had come that Ben Soloman had been murdered, and the deed had been done by the young Scotchman who had been with him.  Mr. Ramsay did not believe the story in the slightest.  He admitted that Ben Soloman might have been murdered, and even said frankly that, hated as he was, it was the most natural end for him to come to; but that you should have done so was, he said, absurd.  In the first place, he did not think that you were alive; and in the second, it was far more probable that you had been murdered by Ben Soloman, than that he should have been murdered by you.

“However, even before your letter came, three or four hours later, there seemed no longer any doubt that you had killed the Jew.  By that time, there was quite an uproar among his people.  He was the leader of their community, and had dealings with so many nobles that his influence was great; and, although he was little liked, he was regarded as an important person, and his loss was a very heavy one to the Jewish community.  A deputation went to the governor, and we heard that troops would be at once sent out to capture you, and the band of brigands you had joined.  Mr. Ramsay told me that it was fortunate, indeed, that you had not returned to the city.  But, no doubt, he has told you all that in the letter.”