"These fellows have been sneaking after us during the whole day, stern sir," replied Skirmen, "and I dare be sworn they are the duke's people. I thought Count Gerhard and his troopers were to follow us."
"The count is his own master," observed the drost: "I know not whether he purposes to attend the Dane-court or no."
"But Sir Rimaardson, then?"
"He goes from hence by sea. So, let us on. In these times, defenceless travellers and princely personages only require an escort."
Skirmen was silent. They crossed the bridge to the Lower-dam, and another leading across the third arm of the Nipsaa to the Stone-gate, at the eastern end of the town. When they reached the gate, they found it closed, by the orders of Sir Thorstenson. At the drost's command and well-known sign it was immediately opened to them; and they were about proceeding on their journey, when Skirmen heard himself called by a clear female voice from above the gateway.
"For God's sake, dear master, let us halt," he exclaimed, eagerly, springing from his horse. "Aasé is certainly in the Gatehouse prison."
"Free us, noble sir drost," cried Aasé from the prison-grating over the arched gateway. "You can bear witness that my grandfather and I are neither spies nor traitors."
On the word of the drost, and his explanation to the watch, the prisoners were liberated; and old Henner, in the long cloak of a pilgrim, and leading Aasé by the hand, stepped forth. He extended his hand to Drost Peter, while Aasé flew delighted into Skirmen's arms.
"One word, sir drost," said Henner, in an under-tone. "If you would ride safely to Snoghoi or Kolding to-night, tarry here till I return, or at least allow the road to stand open for good friends. Run, Aasé! Time presses!"
"What meanest thou, old man?" inquired Drost Peter, impatiently.