"The one matters little to your business,—the other little to mine," the tall individual replied enigmatically while he dexterously resisted his questioner's effort to gain a glimpse at his face. "But," he added in a strange oracular tone, which moved Eckhardt despite himself, "if you value my aid in your hour of trial—assist me now in my hour of need!"
"Your aid?" echoed Eckhardt, staring amazed at his companion. "Do you know me? In what can you assist me?"
"You are Eckhardt the Margrave," replied the stranger; then inclining his head slightly towards him he whispered a word, the effect of which seemed to paralyze his listener, for his arresting hand fell and he retreated a step or two, surveying him in speechless wonder.
"Who are you?" he stammered at last.
The stranger raised the long visor of his conical hat. An exclamation of surprise came from Eckhardt's lips.
"Hezilo, the harper!"
The other replied with a silent nod.
"And we have never met!"
"I seldom go out!" said the harper.
"What know you of Ginevra?" begged the Margrave.