Simon opened the door and entered, but Elsa hung back at its ill-omened threshold.  She even tried to struggle a little, poor girl, whereon the ruffian in front jerked her towards him with an oath, so that she caught her foot and fell upon her face.  This was too much for Adrian.  Springing forward he struck the Butcher full in the mouth with his fist, and next moment they were rolling over and over each other upon the floor, struggling fiercely for the knife which Simon held.

During all her life Elsa never forgot that scene.  Behind her the howling blackness of the night and the open door, through which flake by flake the snow leapt into the light.  In front the large round room, fashioned from the basement of the mill, lit only by the great fire of turfs and a single horn lantern, hung from the ceiling that was ribbed with beams of black and massive oak.  And there, in this forbidding, naked-looking place, that rocked and quivered as the gale caught the tall arms of the mill above, seated by the hearth in a rude chair of wood and sleeping, one man, Ramiro, the Spanish sleuth-hound, who had hunted down her father, he whom above every other she held in horror and in hate; and two, Adrian and the spy, at death-grips on the floor, between them the sheen of a naked knife.

Such was the picture.

Ramiro awoke at the noise, and there was fear on his face as though some ill dream lingered in his brain.  Next instant he saw and understood.

“I will run the man through who strikes another blow,” he said, in a cold clear voice as he drew his sword.  “Stand up, you fools, and tell me what this means.”

“It means that this brute beast but now threw Elsa Brant upon her face,” gasped Adrian as he rose, “and I punished him.”

“It is a lie,” hissed the other; “I pulled the minx on, that is all, and so would you have done, if you had been cursed with such a wild-cat for four-and-twenty hours.  Why, when we took her she was more trouble to hold than any man.”

“Oh!  I understand,” interrupted Ramiro, who had recovered his composure; “a little maidenly reluctance, that is all, my worthy Simon, and as for this young gentleman, a little lover-like anxiety—­doubtless in bygone years you have felt the same,” and he glanced mockingly at Black Meg.  “So do not be too ready to take offence, good Simon.  Youth will be youth.”

“And Youth will get a knife between its ribs if it is not careful,” grumbled Hague Simon, as he spat out a piece of broken tooth.

“Why am I brought here, Senor,” broke in Elsa, “in defiance of laws and justice?”

“Laws!  Mejufvrouw, I did not know that there were any left in the Netherlands; justice! well, all is fair in love and war, as any lady will admit.  And the reason why—­I think you must ask Adrian, he knows more about it than I do.”

“He says that he knows nothing, Senor.”