d, Adrian, called van Goorl," said
the pitiful voice.

"This deed! What deed?" he stammered in answer. "I know nothing of it,
Elsa Brant."

"You know nothing of it? Yet it was done in your name, and you are
here to receive me, who was kidnapped as I walked outside Leyden to be
dragged hither with force by these monsters. Oh! have you no heart and
no fear of judgment that you can speak thus?"

"Free her," roared Adrian, rushing at the Butcher to see a knife
gleaming in his hand and another in that of Black Meg.

"Stop your nonsense, Master Adrian, and stand back. If you have anything
to say, say it to your father, the Count. Come, let us pass, for we are
cold and weary," and taking Elsa by the elbows they brushed past him,
nor, indeed, even had he not been too bewildered to interfere, could
Adrian have stayed them, for he was unarmed. Besides, where would be
the use, seeing that the boat had gone and that they were alone on a
winter's night in the wind-swept wilderness, with no refuge for miles
save such as the mill house could afford. So Adrian bent his head, for
the snow had begun to fall again, and, sick at heart, followed them
along the path. Now he understood at length why they had come to the Red
Mill.

Simon opened the door and entered, but Elsa hung back at its ill-omened
threshold. She even tried to struggle a little, poor girl, whereon the
ruffian in front jerked her towards him with an oath, so that she caught
her foot and fell upon her face. This was too much for Adrian. Springing
forward he struck the Butcher full in the mouth with his fist, and
next moment they were rolling over and over each other upon the floor,
struggling fiercely for the knife which Simon held.

During all her life Elsa never forgot that scene. Behind her the howling
blackness of the night and the open door, through which flake by flake
the snow leapt into the light. In front the large round room, fashioned
from the basement of the mill, lit only by the great fire of turfs and a
single horn lantern, hung from the ceiling that was ribbed with beams
of black and massive oak. And there, in this forbidding, naked-looking
place, that rocked and quivered as the gale caught the tall arms of the
mill above, seated by the hearth in a rude chair of wood and sleeping,
one man, Ramiro, the Spanish sleuth-hound, who had hunted down her
father, he whom above every other she held in horror and in hate; and
two, Adrian and the spy, at death-grip