lrich, whom
everybody knows--who has not noticed the handsome, fair-haired lad in
his gay clothes--will stay with the carriage and accompany it along the
road towards Burgos, as far as it goes. A better decoy than he cannot be
imagined, and besides he is nimble and an excellent horseman. Give
him your own steed, the white Andalusian. If the blood-hounds should
overtake him...."

Here Moor interrupted the baron, saying gravely and firmly: "My grey
head will be too dearly purchased at the cost of this young life. Change
this part of your plan, I entreat you."

"Impossible!" exclaimed the Sicilian. "We have few hours at our command,
and if they don't follow him, they will pursue us, and you will be
lost."

"Yet..." Moor began; but Sophonisba, scarcely able to command her voice,
interrupted: "He owes everything to--you. I know him. Where is he?"

"Let us maintain our self-control!" cried the Netherlander. "I do not
rely upon the king's mercy, but perhaps in the decisive hour, he will
remember what we have been to each other; if Ulrich, on the contrary,
robs the irritated lion of his prey and is seized...."

"My sister shall watch over him," said the baron but Sophonisba tore
open the door, rushed into the studio, and called as loudly as she
could: "Ulrich, Ulrich! Ulrich!"

The men followed her, but scarcely had they crossed the threshold, when
they heard her rap violently at the door of the school-room, and Ulrich
asking: "What is it?"

"Open the door!"

Soon after, with pallid face and throbbing heart, he was standing before
the others, asking: "What am I to do?"

"Save your master!" cried Sophonisba. "Are you a contemptible Wight, or
does a true artist's heart beat in your breast? Would you fear to go,
perhaps to your death, for this imperilled man?"

"No, no!" cried the youth as joyously as if a hundred-pound weight had
been lifted from his breast. "If it costs my life, so much the better!
Here I am! Post me where you please, do with me as you will! He has
given me everything, and I--I have betrayed him. I must confess, even
if you kill me! I gossiped, babbled--like a fool, a child--about what
I accidentally saw here yesterday. It is my fault, mine, if they pursue
him. Forgive me, master, forgive me! Do with me what you will. Beat me,
slay me, and I will bless you."

As he uttered the last words, the young artist, raising his clasped
hands imploringly, fell on his knees before his beloved teacher. Moor
be