sted
her. At last a chamberlain came to summon her to the Duke's presence.

In a spacious, sparsely furnished room she found the Duke awaiting her,
wearing now a gown of black and gold that was trimmed with rich fur. He
sat in a tall chair of oak and leather, and leaning on the back of it
lounged gracefully the lovely scarlet youth who had ridden at his side.

Standing before him, with drooping eyes and folded hands, she told her
shameful story. Darker and darker grew his brow as she proceeded with
it. But it was the gloom of doubt rather than of anger.

"Rhynsault?" he cried when she had done. "Rhynsault did this?"

There was incredulity in his voice and nothing else.

The youth behind him laughed softly, and shifted his attitude.

"You are surprised. Yet what else was to be looked for in that Teuton
swine? Me he never could deceive, for all his--"

"Be silent, Arnault," said the Duke sharply. And to the woman: "It is
a grave, grave charge," he said, "against a man I trusted and have
esteemed, else I should not have placed him where he is. What proof have
you?"

She proffered him a strip of parchment--the signed order for the gaol
delivery of Philip Danvelt.

"The gaoler of Middelburg will tell Your Grace that he was hanged
already when I presented this. My woman Catherine, whom I have with
me, can testify to part. And there are some other servants who can bear
witness to my husband's innocence. Captain von Rhynsault had ceased to
doubt it."

He studied the parchment, and fell very grave and thoughtful.

"Where are you lodged?" he asked.

She told him.

"Wait there until I send for you again," he bade her. "Leave this order
with me, and depend upon it, justice shall be done."

That evening, a messenger rode out to Middelburg to summon von Rhynsault
to Bruges, and the arrogant German came promptly and confidently,
knowing nothing of the reason, but conceiving naturally that
fresh honours were to be conferred upon him by a master who loved
stout-hearted servants. And that Rhynsault was stout-hearted he showed
most of all when the Duke taxed him without warning with the villainy he
had wrought.

If he was surprised, he was not startled. What was the life of a Flemish
burgher more or less? What the honour of a Flemish wife? These were not
considerations to daunt a soldier, a valiant man of war. And because
such was his dull mood--for he was dull, this Rhynsault, as dull as
he was brutish--he considered h