t difficult situation, he said to himself that, if
his wound should be connected with the murder before this house it would
betray his master's secret to the Ratisbon courts of justice, and thereby
to the public.

He had heard the skull of the lurking thief strike against the granite
steps of the house. So the dark, motionless mass before him was probably
a corpse. There was no hurry about that, but his own condition compelled
him to take care of himself. Entering the shadow of a tall building
opposite the dwelling, he assured himself that the street was entirely
empty, and then, drawing the aching arm from the doublet, he examined the
wound as well as the dim light would permit. It was deep, it is true, but
the robber's weapon appeared merely to have cut the flesh.

A jerk, and Quijada had stripped the ruff from his neck, and, as this did
not suffice, he cut with his sword blade and his teeth a piece of fine
linen from his shirt.

This would do for the first bandage. The skilful hand which, in battle,
had aided many a bleeding comrade soon completed the task.

Then he flung his uninjured cloak around him again, and turned toward the
lifeless body at the foot of the steps.

There lay the murderer's weapon--a delicately fashioned short dress
sword, with an ivory hilt, not the knife of a common highwayman.

That was the reason the wound was so narrow.

But who had sought his life with this dainty steel blade?

There were few at court who envied him the Emperor's favour--his office
often compelled him to deny even persons of higher rank access to his
Majesty; but he had never--this he could assure himself--treated even men
of humble station harshly or unjustly. If he had offended any one by
haughty self-confidence, it had been unintentional. He was not to blame
for the manner natural to the Castilian.

Besides, he had little time for reflection; scarcely had he hastily wiped
off with the little cloak that lay beside him the blood which covered the
face of the prostrate man than he started back in horror, for the person
who had sought his life was the very one whom he had honoured with his
highest confidence, and had chosen as the teacher and companion of the
wife who was dearer than his own existence.

Some cruel misunderstanding, some pitiable mistake must have been at work
here, and he came upon the right trail speedily enough.

The hapless knight loved Barbara, and had taken him, Luis, for her
betrayer and n