For one brief moment Conrad sat as if paralyzed. Hilvardine was in danger. The spies of the Inquisition were on her track. Then the Name, the one sacred name, which rises to all human lips in moments of supreme agony, broke from his lips in a wail of anguish.
"God in heaven, let this infamous plot fail. Let me rescue this maiden, who is as dear to me as my own soul, from these human vultures."
The young man began to make arrangements to reach Antwerp as speedily as possible. He left a note for the Prince informing him of his sudden departure, and then hastily prepared himself for the journey. He went to the Royal Sword, hired a swift horse, and several hours before daybreak found him on the road to Antwerp. He paused in his journey only long enough to secure a lunch and a fresh horse.
The day was well advanced when he reached Antwerp. He noticed the havoc which had been made by the rioters, although the streets were now quiet, but he hardly gave the matter a thought. Should he reach the Burgomaster's house in time to give them warning, or would he be too late? The young advocate rode at such a reckless pace that people stared at him. One or two myrmidons of the law ordered him to stop, but he heeded them not. The dust flew, and the smoking flanks of his horse bore evidence of mad haste. Conrad Cheno-
