“I would speak with thee apart, then,” replied the cavalier.
And though Craftall proffered him no invitation to enter, he pushed rudely by him, and passed into the chamber.
“Be not afeard,” he said; “but close the door. I am a friend.”
There was something in the stranger’s manner that, in spite of himself, overawed Craftall, and he obeyed his injunction without hesitation.
“Now, prithee lead me to holy father Paul,” pursued the stranger, when Craftall had closed the door.
The recusant merchant started.
“I tell thee, I am a friend,” continued the stranger. “Were I aught else, would I come to thee by night, and alone? I am a foreigner, a true son of the church, by name Felix di Corva.”
Craftall pointed to the inner door of the room. “Thou wilt find him in the chamber beyond,” he said.
Don Felix—for the stranger was indeed he—made no reply, but hastened towards the door pointed at. He did not pause to knock, but, on arriving at the door, opened it at once, and passed in. As he crossed the threshold, he drew the door close behind him.