"How came you by this knowledge?" he questioned aghast.
"Give me some water—I am choking," gasped the monk.
Again Eckhardt held the helmet to his lips, while he prayed that the spark of life might remain long enough in that enfeebled body, to clear the mystery, at whose brink he stood.
The monk drank greedily, and when his thirst seemed appeased the water ran out of the corners of his mouth. He again relapsed into a swoon; he heard Eckhardt's questions, but lacked strength to answer.
Stooping over him, Eckhardt grasped him by the shoulder and shook him mercilessly. He must not die, until he knew all.
A terrible certainty flashed through his mind.
This monk knew what was to him a seven times sealed book.
He had repeated to him Ginevra's wish,—now, nor heaven nor hell should turn him from his path.
"I thought,—Marozia's descendants were all dead," he said, fear and hesitation in his tones.
The monk feebly shook his head.