faithful tire-woman, Anne. Even my father
does not know of its existence. If he knew, he would soon close it. My
grandfather, Duke Philip the Good, built it in the wall to connect his
bedroom with the house of his true friend, burgher Castleman. Some day
I'll tell you the story of the stairway, and how I discovered it. My
bedroom is the one my grandfather occupied."

The stairway explained to me all the strange occurrences relating to
Yolanda's appearances and disappearances at Castleman's house, and it
will do the same for you.

After we had climbed until I felt that surely we must be among the
clouds, I said:--

"Yolanda, you must be leading me to heaven."

"I should like to do that, Sir Karl," she responded, laughing softly.

"I would gladly give my life to lead you and Max to heaven," said I.

"Ah, Sir Karl," she answered gently, pressing my hand and caressingly
placing her cheek against my arm. "I dare not even think on that. If he
could and would take me, believing me to be a burgher girl, he would
truly lead me to heaven."

After a pause, while we rested to take a breath, I said: "What is it you
want me to do, Yolanda? I am unarmed."

"I shall not ask you to do murder, Sir Karl," she said, laughing
nervously. I fancied I could see a sparkle of mirth in her eyes as she
continued: "It is not so bad as that. Neither is there a dragon for you
to overthrow. But I shall soon enlighten you--here we are at the top of
the steps."

At the moment she spoke I collided with a heavy oak partition, in which
Yolanda quickly found a moving panel, and we entered a dimly lighted
room. I noticed among the furniture a gorgeously tapestried bed. A rich
rug, the like of which I had seen in Damascus, covered the floor. The
stone walls were draped with silk tapestry, and a jewelled lamp was
pendant from the vaulted ceiling. This was Yolanda's bedroom, and truly
it was a resting-place worthy of the richest princess in Christendom. I
felt that I was in the holy of holies. I found difficulty in believing
that the childlike Yolanda could be so important a personage in the
politics of Europe. She seemed almost to belong to me, so much at that
time did she lean on my strength.

Out of her sleeping apartment she led me to another and a larger room,
lighted by broad windows cut through the inner wall of the castle, which
at that point was not more than three or four feet thick. This was
Yolanda's parlor. The floor, like that of the b