Don Ramon, already a prey to that superstitious fear of the unknown and of the mysterious which characterised even the boldest of his country and of his race, felt all his arrogance giving way in the presence of this extraordinary apparition, which by the dim and flickering light of the lamp appeared to him to be preternaturally tall and strangely menacing in its grim attitude of silence. Thus a moment or two went by. The stranger now turned and carefully closed and locked the door behind him. Key in hand he went up to the girl--Grete--who, no less terrified than her tormentor, was cowering in a corner of the room.
"Where is Katrine," he asked quickly; then, as the girl almost paralysed by fear seemed quite unable to speak, he added more peremptorily:
"Pull yourself together, wench; your life and Katrine's depend on your courage now. Where is she?"
"In ... in ... the cellar ... I think," stammered Grete almost inaudibly and making a brave effort to conquer her terror.
"Can you reach her without crossing the tap-room?"
The girl nodded.
"Well, then, run to her at once. Don't stop to collect any of your belongings, except what money you have; then go ... go at once.... Have you a friend or relative in this city to whom you could go at this late hour?"
Again the girl nodded, and looked up more boldly this time: "My father's sister..." she whispered.
"Where does she live?"
"At the sign of the 'Merry Beggars' in Dendermonde."