Twonette’s haste was really wonderful.  When she found me her cheeks were like red roses, and she could hardly speak for lack of breath.  For the first and last time I saw Twonette shorn of her serenity.

The duke had not invited me to go hawking, and fortunately I had stayed at home cuddling the thought that Yolanda was the Princess Mary, and that my fair Prince Max had found rare favor in her eyes.

“Yolanda wants you at my father’s house immediately,” said Twonette, when I stepped outside the inn door.  “The need is urgent beyond measure.”  Whereupon she courtesied and turned away.  Twonette held that words were not made to be wasted, so I asked no questions.  I almost ran to Castleman’s house, and was taken at once to a large room in the second story.  It was on the west side of the house immediately against the castle wall.  The walls of the room were sealed with broad oak panels, beautifully carved, and the west end of the apartment—­that next the castle wall—­was hung with silk tapestries.  When I entered the room I found Yolanda alone.  She hurriedly closed the door after me and spoke excitedly:—­

“I am so glad Twonette found you, Sir Karl.  I am in dire need.  Will you help me?”

“I will help you if it is in my power, Yolanda,” I answered.  “You can ask nothing which I will not at least try to do.”

“Even at the risk of your life?” she asked, placing her hand upon my arm.

“Even to the loss of my life, Yolanda,” I replied.

“Would you commit an act which the law calls a crime?” she asked, trembling in voice and limb.

“I would do that which is really a crime, if I might thereby serve you to great purpose,” I answered.  “God often does apparent evil that good may come of it.  An act must be judged as a whole, by its conception, its execution, and its result.  Tell me what you wish me to do, and I will do it without an ’if’—­God giving me the power.”

“Then come with me.”

She took my hand and led me to the end of the room next the castle wall.  There she held the draperies to one side while she pushed back one of the oak panels.  Through this opening we passed, and the draperies fell together behind us.  After Yolanda had opened the panel a moment of light revealed to me a flight of stone steps built in the heart of the castle wall, which at that point was sixteen feet thick.  When Yolanda closed the panel, we were in total darkness.  She took my left hand in her left and with her right arm at my back guided me up the long, dark stairway.  While mounting the steps, she said:—­“Now, Sir Karl, you have all my great secrets—­at least, they are very great to me.  You know who I am, and you know of this stairway.  No one knows of it but my mother, uncle, aunt, Twonette, and my 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.”