"Stay!" replied the intruder, "there be conditions ere thou pass hence. Miserable offspring of Adam, ye still cling to your prison and your clay. Wherefore shrink from the separation, afraid to shake off your bonds, your loathsome carcase, and spring forth at once to life? Art thou prepared to fulfil one—but one condition for thy release?"
"Name it! Manifest my innocence; and if it be gold, thou shalt have thy desire. No hired advocate ere yet held such a fee!"
"Keep thy gold for baser uses; it buyeth not my benefits. But remember, thy life is not worth a week's purchase, neither is thy mistress' forsooth, shouldest thou be witless enough to refuse. An ignominious death, a base exit for thyself,—for her, madness and a speedy grave. One fate awaits ye both. Life and health, if thou consent are yours."
"Thou speakest riddles. It were vain trying to comprehend their import. Name thy conditions. Aught, that honour may purchase, will I give."
The stranger threw back his cowl, displaying the features of the renowned Doctor Hermann Sichel: a gleam of lurid intelligence lighted his grim grey eyes, that might betoken either insanity or excitement.
Without reflecting for one moment on the hazard and imprudence of his conduct, De Vessey immediately rushed forward, grappled with his adversary, and threw him.
"Now will I have deadly vengeance, fiend! Take that!" said he, drawing forth a concealed poignard, and thrusting with all his might. Scorn puckered the features of the pretended monk. The weapon's point was driven back, refusing to enter, as though his enemy held a charmed existence.
"Put back thy weapon; thou wilt have need of it elsewhere, silly one."
De Vessey was confounded at this unlooked-for result. His foe seemed invulnerable, and he slunk back.
"I forgive thee, poor fool! Put it back, I say. There—there—now to work—time hastens, and there is little space for parley."