This Master Mathias was a very clever man—more clever than all the rest.

"I have been made the receiver of a secret, so strong that it will eat its way through the walls that hold it. It's true I have sworn on the Gospel that I will not betray it to anybody; but how can Lord Grazian believe me altogether, when he does not believe the Gospel? I am inclined to think he would have much more confidence in a dead man. And how easy it is to make a dead man out of a living one! Just a taste of meat with something good on it—one swallow of a carefully prepared drink—and then a peaceful good night. One does not need to defend himself against a dead man."

Master Mathias thought of this while he cut the meat that he found in the house, set the wine on the table and wiped off the plates. He had thought out a plan. In the house there was still one living creature, a hunting dog; he called him in, gave him some meat and bread; and the dog swallowed all. Then he gave him a bowl of wine; the dog drank this too, and nothing happened. So then neither drink nor food contained any poison that would kill instantly, and later—why he would watch carefully my Lord Grazian's hands.

He had to wait some time for him to finish putting away the gold, then suddenly the ghostly bell rang out, a sign that some one was near the door of the underground passage. Lord Grazian staggered out of the church. The bears were not in the garden any more, their hides were hanging on the hedge; their master had had them skinned the day before, as a reward for their faithless watching.

"The ghosts have been ringing again," growled out Master Mathias, as Lord Grazian entered.

"Never mind, they have done it for the last time," said Lord Grazian, sitting down at the table. His feet were encased in large, high Polish boots, in the legs of which were all kinds of tools; out of one he brought a knife in a silver case and his two-tined fork. A real lord never puts a stranger's table-silver to his mouth. Out of the other leg he brought a gold drinking cup in tortoise-shell case, the "bratina" that can be drained at one swallow.

"Now, my good servant, prepare yours, and prepare mine; you see I have but one arm."

Master and servant sat down opposite each other, and ate from one dish. The master had good reason to be hungry, for he had not tasted a mouthful since early morning. The dog went from one to the other, wagging his tail; neither food nor drink seemed to have hurt him any.

"Now then, my good fellow, let us both drink out of this 'bratina'; first I and then you. Do you see that is the advantage of a 'bratina', because the master of the house cannot poison his guests, as is the custom with foreigners. For with us the cup goes round, and all drink from one cup,—first of all the master."

Lord Grazian filled the cup and drained it off—

"To your health, my faithful servant!"

Then he passed the cup, and Master Mathias too drained it.

"To your health, my beloved master!"

Then followed in turn the customary toasts. "To the health of the happy bride!" "May God give long life to the brave bridegroom!" "Long life to the beautiful Lady of Madocsany!" And so the cup went back and forth with toasts to friends and foes until there was nothing left to be said.

Meantime the moon had risen and shone through the window. The Lord Grazian said to Master Mathias:

"Why, my good follow, you have a married daughter."

"True, she lives in Tepla, poor soul. Yes, over there."

"How many children has she?"

"Six."

"You have not drunk to their health yet, have you?"

"On my soul, no."

"Don't drink any more, my dear fellow, you've drunk enough already. And that not only for to-day, but for your whole life. You are a dead man already, and so am I. This 'bratina' that we have been drinking out of, was poisoned with an Italian poison that goes by the clock. You have two hours left to live. So get yourself together and go on your way; the ice is firm, you can go over to Tepla to your daughter. Then you can go to bed, send for a priest, and make your will, and you will at least have somebody to close your eyes."

That was the end of the comedy.

Master Mathias sprang up in terror, his hair on end. He began already to feel the pangs of approaching death. With a curse he dashed out of the room, leaving behind his bag of gold, and goaded by torture, rushed out through the castle gate over the ice-covered Waag.

Lord Grazian filled his beaker again and again with wine; and drank and drank—all sole alone. In his heart he offered toasts to all who had received good from him and returned evil, and then again to those who had done him favors, returned only by evil. Every cup was a new draught of poison, though so compounded that it acted slowly. Lord Grazian must make haste, for he wished to fulfil his word made to the Lady of Madocsany—"I swear to you that Father Peter shall live longer than I."