o man will ever know from thee the truth."

"I swear, I swear," the old man repeated piteously after his son.

And so it came to be that Raoul, the second son, succeeded his father
as Lord of Cartillon.

And thus is the promise of the Lord God made true.

DOCUMENT No. 4

(Concerning the making of the locket)

Extracts from the statement of Miguel Siliceo, goldsmith, of San
Estevan de Gormaz, as given in presence of Brothers Jehan and Hubert,
only such portions being here set out as have relation hereto, for the
sake of greater brevity and perspicuity.

Said Miguel Siliceo, Spaniard, sojourning in the town of Rouen, having
come to the Monastery of Vaux to unburthen his soul of certain
diabolical knowledge and happenings which preyed thereon, to his great
distress and distraction of mind, having first solemnly sworn upon the
name of St. Iago of Compostella, his patron, to speak truth, did say: *
* *

I came to Chateau Cartillon in the year of grace one thousand six
hundred and forty-two, upon the solicitation of its lord, he having
known me upon the banks of the Douro for a master workman, well skilled
in rare and curious devices, both of metals and precious stones. For
more than two years I rested in and about the castle, seeing much
whereof my soul hath need of ease and God's forgiveness. * * *

* * * One day Count Raoul, being vexed and much disturbed, commanded my
attendance upon him.

"My good Miguel," he spake in voice much softer than was his wont, "I
do require of you a proof of utmost skill."

I bowed my willingness to undertake a commission.

"I require a golden locket, such as man never saw before, of rare and
cunning device. Do you forthwith make it for me, showing upon the one
side the black wolf's head of d'Artin, and quarterings, in fairest
inlaid work. Upon the other and hidden side, let it appear the black
wolf's head as before, but surcharged with the bar sinister. You know.
And let it be concealed by so secretly a hidden spring, no hand but
mine can touch or find," and as he spoke on, his tongue flew the
taster, his eyes roved about, he kept tight grip upon his sword as if
he feared. He, Raoul of Cartillon, the man whose headlong courage was
an army's byword, he feared in his own hall.

Even so, for proceeding further, his speech grew more wild, and I fain
would have fled.

"You know my oath to my father." I of course knew naught of the
matter, nor do I know it yet, thoug