"But if I burn you alive in your own hut?"
"The holy martyrs have been burnt at the stake."
"No, old man, I am not an executioner. I have learnt in the service of my king to revere faithfulness." And Bertel pressed the old man's hand with emotion.
"But I will tell you one thing," he continued, "you think that I have come to take the fugitives back to their prison. It is not so. I give you my word of honour, that I will defend Lady Regina's freedom with my life's blood, and do all in my power to favour her flight. Will you now tell me which way she has gone?"
"No, your grace," said the calm old man; "the young lady is under the protection of the saints, and a wise man's guidance. You are hot-blooded and young, and would bring them all to ruin. Turn back, you will not find any trace of the fugitives."
"Bull-head," muttered Bertel indignantly. "Farewell, I shall get along without your help."
"Remain here quietly until to-morrow, your grace. To-night you are at liberty to walk, if you choose, six miles through the high snow-drifts, to the nearest farm. To-morrow you can ride comfortably."
"Wretch! you have sent my horses away?"
"Yes, your grace ... you must be hungry. Here is a kettle with boiled turnips; may they be to your taste."
"Ah!" thought Bertel to himself, as he impatiently paced the floor, "I would not let Larsson see me at this moment for ten bottles of Rhine wine. He would certainly compare me to the wandering knight of La Mancha, who, on the way to his Dulcinea, fell into the most peculiar adventures. How shall I get away from here through these terrible snow-drifts?"