CHAPTER VI.
ANDREW, as was his custom, sat alone in his little room in the tower, meditating in gloomy silence, and learned at last that what he heard was not only the gale beating the night rain against the Castle gate, but also an impatient hand. Seized with pity, he hastened to open it for the benighted traveler, thinking of the night when a messenger that brought news to Hlohov about Felsenburk’s death had knockd on the gate about the same hour.
After a severe struggle with the wind, in which his lantern went out, he opened a little door in the gate, and saw before him in the dark the uncertain outlines of the man who so urgently demanded admittance. The roar of the wind and the dash of the rain drowned
