"I have been here before!" he exclaimed, looking round the place. "It was here that I saw them with Mistress Margaret. Yes, it was here. I shall often come here, and won't I spoil the Egyptians!"
He hugged himself at the thought, and was exultant while Herman led him to the cave's entrance, where they saw the great river rolling by in solemn silence, but shining under the moon's still rays. Heinrich gazed in all directions, and, rubbing his hands, he whispered, as though the bush had listeners in it:
"I know! I came into the cavern by this entrance. Yonder I shall find the gate. Away in that direction is the Burgomaster's house. Oh yes, I know! But let me be sure. There is this bush and that gleaming bit of rock, like a dog's head. Yes, 'tis the same. And to think of the dismay of the black Familiars when they come from time to time and find one of the cells empty! this one to-day, and that one to-morrow!"
He stopped, with a puzzled look on his face.
"I want to take you to Mistress Margaret, but I cannot. We are outside the city walls, and we may not go in again till dawn of day, when the gates are opened. Let us go back to that accursed house, and into the garden, and climb the wall."
Herman smiled as he watched Heinrich's anxiety.
"There is no need. I am going to take you by a private way if you will give me your solemn promise never to betray it to anyone."
The other looked at him reproachfully.
"How could you think I would do so base a thing?" he cried. "I, who love so much those who have been kind to me? How could you even think of it?"
Taking Herman's hand, Heinrich gazed into his eyes still more, and presently a tear fell down the poor fellow's face, and yet another, and many more.