“The sword Silence? What sword is that?”
“The great sword of Red Martin.”
Stirred out of his self-control, Ramiro struck his hand upon his knee.
“And to think,” he said, “that for over twelve hours I had it hanging on the wall of the Gevangenhuis! Well, I fear that I must ask you to be more explicit. Where is this sword?”
“Wherever Red Martin is, that is all I know. I can tell you no more; the plan of the hiding-place is there.”
“Or was there. Well, I believe you, but to win a secret from the hilt of the sword of the man who broke his way out of the torture-chamber of the Gevangenhuis, is a labour that would have been not unworthy of Hercules. First, Red Martin must be found, then his sword must be taken, which, I think, will cost men their lives. Dear lady, I am obliged for your information, but I fear that the marriage must still go through.”
“You swore, you swore,” she gasped, “you swore before God!”
“Quite so, and I shall leave—the Power you refer to—to manage the matter. Doubtless He can attend to His own affairs—I must attend to mine. I hope that about seven o’clock this evening will suit you, by which time the priest and—a bridegroom will be ready.”
Then Elsa broke down.
“Devil!” she cried in the torment of her despair. “To save my honour I have betrayed my father’s trust; I have betrayed the secret for which Martin was ready to die by torment, and given him over to be hunted like a wild beast. Oh! God forgive me, and God help me!”