"Didst know then that Messire Mark van Rycke was Leatherface?"
"Not till yesterday, noble lady ... not till the men spoke of it and said that the mysterious Leatherface was the leader of the rebels ... and that he was the son of the High-Bailiff of Ghent, Messire Mark van Rycke...."
"Thou didst know him, too, then as Leatherface?"
"Aye, noble lady," said Grete quietly, "he saved my life and my sister's. I would give mine to save him now."
"Saved thy life? How? When?"
"Only a few days ago, noble lady," murmured the child, speaking with a great effort at self-control. The recollection of that awful night brought fresh terror to her heart.
But Lenora's brows contracted now in puzzlement. A few days ago? Mark was courting her then....
"I do not understand," she said impatiently, "a few days ago Leatherface ... Messire Mark van Rycke ... was in Ghent ... I was betrothed to him on the seventh day of this month...."
"And 'tis on that night he saved my life ... and Katrine's ... aye! and saved us from worse than death...."
She paused abruptly; her round, young cheeks lost their last vestige of colour, her eyes their clear, childlike look. She cast a quick, furtive glance on Lenora as if she were, afraid. But Lenora was unconscious of this change in the girl's manner, her very senses seemed to be on the alert, hanging upon the peasant girl's lips.... The night of her betrothal was the night on which Ramon was murdered ... the tavern of the "Three Weavers" was the place where he was found. This girl then knew something of that awesome occurrence, which, despite outside assurances, had remained vaguely puzzling to Lenora's mind. Now she would hear and know, and her very heart seemed to stand still as her mind appeared to be waiting upon the threshold of a mystery which was interwoven with her whole life, and with her every hope of peace.