"I'll join him there in an hour," replied Auriol, moving away.
And as he disappeared, the man took up his little burden, and bent his steps towards the barracks.
Utterly disregarding the dripping state of his habiliments, Auriol proceeded quickly to the place of rendezvous. Arrived there, he looked around, and not seeing any one, flung himself upon a bench at the foot of the gentle eminence on which the gigantic statue of Achilles is placed.
It was becoming rapidly dark, and heavy clouds, portending speedy rain, increased the gloom. Auriol's thoughts were sombre as the weather and the hour, and he fell into a deep fit of abstraction, from which he was roused by a hand laid on his shoulder.
Recoiling at the touch, he raised his eyes, and beheld the stranger leaning over him, and gazing at him with a look of diabolical exultation. The cloak was thrown partly aside, so as to display the tall, gaunt figure of its wearer; while the large collar of sable fur with which it was decorated stood out like the wings of a demon. The stranger's hat was off, and his high broad forehead, white as marble, was fully revealed.
"Our meeting must be brief," he said. "Are you prepared to fulfil the compact?"
"What do you require?" replied Auriol.
"Possession of the girl I saw three days ago," said the other; "the iron-merchant's daughter, Ebba. She must be mine."
"Never!" cried Auriol firmly—"never!"
"Beware how you tempt me to exert my power," said the stranger; "she must be mine—or——"