Gregory eyed the stranger warily, but in Padraig’s blue eyes he saw only childlike innocence and fanatical zeal.  If a madman, he was a useful one.  By his help the experiments could be carried on without imperiling any Templar.  He directed a page to show Padraig the way to Tomaso’s chamber.

“My son!” said the physician as he lifted his eyes from his writing and saw who was in the doorway, “how came you here?”

“I came to be with you, Master,” Padraig answered with a glance behind him to make sure the page was gone, “to rescue you if I can.  What else could I have done?”

Then he related his conversation with Gregory.  “Through a drover of this place who is our friend,” he ended, “I have sent word to Robert Edrupt asking him to get word of this to the King or to the Bishop.  But if help does not come in time—­”

“Che sara sara (What will be, will be),” said Tomaso coolly.  “I have made a fair copy of these writings in the hope that I might send them to Brother Basil.”

Padraig knelt at the physician’s feet, his beseeching eyes raised to the kindly, serene old face.  “Master Tomaso,” he stammered, “they shall not do this thing—­I cannot b-bear it!  We have—­we have the formula for the Apples of Sodom, and—­and other things.  They would give more than gold for that knowledge.”

Tomaso laid a gentle hand upon the young shoulder.  “My dear son,” he said, “when we learned the secrets of Archiater—­those secrets which mean death--we promised one another, all of us, never to use them save to the glory of God and the honor of our land.  Which of these, think you, would be served by lending them to the evil plots of a traitor?”

Padraig caught the hand of his master in both his own.  “It is beyond endurance!” he cried piteously.

“I have knowledge,” Tomaso went on, “that this Gregory is partly pledged to the faction of Prince John.  The Templars have no country, but they think, with some reason, that they can bend John to their purposes.  What would they do, with the power these fires of Tophet would give them?  Padraig, there is no safety in the breaking of a pledge.”

A thought came into the boy’s mind, and a wild hope with it.  “Master Tomaso,” he cried, “if I can find a way to use our knowledge without breaking the pledge, will you give me my way?”

The Paduan looked long into the uplifted eager face.  “It is good to be so loved,” he said.  “I will trust you.  Yet grieve not, whatever comes,—­the stars are my fortress, God is my lamp.  The bridge to eternal life is very short.”

Padraig’s cell was the one just below, and the window looked out across the moors.  Chin on his crossed arms, he pondered long under the stars.  The next day he informed the Preceptor that the alchemist was ready to begin the making of Spanish gold, and must on no account be disturbed.