’By this arrow of our betrothal, I conjure thee to meet me in all haste without the western gate, where, burning to reveal to thee most urgent tidings that may not be confided to paper, now waits, petitioning the saints, thy

‘Farina.’

Aunt Lisbeth placed letter and arrow in a drawer; locked it; and ’always thought so.’  She ascended the stairs to consult with Gottlieb.  Roars of laughter greeted her just as she lifted the latch, and she retreated abashed.

There was no time to lose.  Farina must be caught in the act of waiting for Margarita, and by Gottlieb, or herself.  Gottlieb was revelling.  ’May this be a warning to thee, Gottlieb,’ murmured Lisbeth, as she hooded her little body in Margarita’s fur-cloak, and determined that she would be the one to confound Farina.

Five minutes later Margarita returned.  Aunt Lisbeth was gone.  The dragon still lacked a tip to his forked tongue, and a stream of fiery threads dangled from the jaws of the monster.  Another letter was brought into the room by Lieschen.

‘For Aunt Lisbeth,’ said Margarita, reading the address.  ’Who can it be from?’

‘She does not stand pressing about your letters,’ said the woman; and informed Margarita of the foregoing missive.

‘You say she drew an arrow from it?’ said Margarita, with burning face.  ‘Who brought this? tell me!’ and just waiting to hear it was Farina’s mother, she tore the letter open, and read: 

   ’Dearest Lisbeth!

’Thy old friend writes to thee; she that has scarce left eyes to see the words she writes.  Thou knowest we are a fallen house, through the displeasure of the Emperor on my dead husband.  My son, Farina, is my only stay, and well returns to me the blessings I bestow upon him.  Some call him idle:  some think him too wise.  I swear to thee, Lisbeth, he is only good.  His hours are devoted to the extraction of essences—­to no black magic.  Now he is in trouble-in prison.  The shadow that destroyed his dead father threatens him.  Now, by our old friendship, beloved Lisbeth! intercede with Gottlieb, that he may plead for my son before the Emperor when he comes—­’

Margarita read no more.  She went to the window, and saw her guard marshalled outside.  She threw a kerchief over her head, and left the house by the garden gate.

THE MONK

By this time the sun stood high over Cologne.  The market-places were crowded with buyers and sellers, mixed with a loitering swarm of soldiery, for whose thirsty natures winestalls had been tumbled up.  Barons and knights of the empire, bravely mounted and thickly followed, poured hourly into Cologne from South Germany and North.  Here, staring Suabians, and round-featured warriors of the East Kingdom, swaggered up and down, patting what horses came across them, for lack of occupation for their hands.  Yonder,