“A ladder quaintly made of cords,” he said, “with hooks at the end, which you can throw up, and by which you can scale the tower.”
“But how shall I convey the ladder?” asked the Duke.
“It will be so light, my lord, that you can easily carry it under your cloak,” said Valentine.
“Will a cloak as long as yours serve the purpose?”
“Why, any cloak will serve, my lord.”
“How shall I wear it?” said the Duke. “Pray let me feel your cloak upon me.”
Valentine could scarcely refuse, and the next moment the Duke had drawn forth from the cloak not only a letter addressed to Silvia, saying that Valentine would set her free that night, but also the ladder of ropes that was to be used for that purpose.
Then the Duke’s anger blazed forth.
“Go, base intruder! Overweening slave!” he exclaimed; and in words of the most contemptuous wrath he ordered Valentine to leave his Court and his territories, and never to be seen in them again on pain of death.