The Sword Maker

  IV

  THE DISTURBING JOURNEY OF FATHER AMBROSE

  The setting summer sun shone full on the western side of Sayn Castle,sending the shadow of that tenth-century edifice far along thegreensward of the upper valley. Upon a balcony, perched like a swallow'snest against the eastern end of Sayn Castle, a lovely girl of eighteenleaned, meditating, with arms resting on the balustrade, the harshnessof whose stone surface was nullified by the soft texture of agaudily-covered robe flung over it. This ample cloth, brought from theEast by a Crusading ancestor of the girl, made a gay patch of scarletand gold against the somber side of the Castle.

  The youthful Countess Hildegunde von Sayn watched the slow oncoming of amonk, evidently tired, who toiled along the hillside deep in the shadowof the Castle, as if its cool shade was grateful to him. Belonging, ashe did, to the very practical Order of the Benedictines, whose beliefwas in work sanctioned by prayer, the Reverend Father did not denyhimself this temporary refuge from the hot rays of the sun, which hadpoured down upon him all day.

  Looking up as he approached the stronghold, and seeing the girl, littledreaming of the frivolous mission she would propose, he waved his handto her, and she responded gracefully with a similar gesture.

  Indeed, however strongly the monk might disapprove, there was much to besaid in favor of the resolution to which the young lady had come. Shewas well educated, probably the richest heiress in Germany, andcarefully as the pious Sisters of Nonnenwerth Convent may have concealedthe fact from her, she was extremely beautiful, and knew it, andalthough the valley of the Saynbach was a very haven of peace andprosperity, the girl became just a trifle lonely, and yearned to knowsomething of life and the Court in Frankfort, to which her high rankcertainly entitled her.

  It is true that very disquieting rumors had reached her concerning thecondition of things in the capital city; nevertheless she determined tolearn from an authoritative source whether or not it was safe to take upa temporary residence in Frankfort, and for this purpose the reluctantFather Ambrose would journey southward.

  Father Ambrose was more than sixty years old, and if he had belonged tothe world, instead of to religion, would have been entitled to the nameHenry von Sayn. His presence in the Benedictine Order was proof of thefact that money will not accomplish everything. His famous, or perhapswe should say infamous, ancestor, Count Henry III. of Sayn, who died in1246, was a robber and a murderer, justly esteemed the terror of theRhine. Concealed as it was in the Sayn valley, half a league from thegreat river, the situation of his stronghold favored his depredations.He filled his warehousing rooms with merchandise from barges going downthe river, and with gold seized from unhappy merchants on their way up.He thought no more of cutting a throat than of cutting a purse, and itwas only when he became amazingly wealthy that the increase of yearsbrought trouble to a conscience which all men thought had ceased toexist. Thereupon, for the welfare of his soul, he built the Abbey ofSayn, and provided for the monks therein. Yet, when he came to die, heentertained fearsome, but admittedly well-founded doubts regarding hisfuture state, so he proceeded to sanctify a treasure no longer of anyuse to him, by bequeathing it to the Church, driving, however, a bargainby which he received assurance that his body should rest quietly in thetomb he had prepared for himself within the Abbey walls.

  He was buried with impressive ceremony, and the monks he had endowed dideverything to carry out their share of the pact. The tomb was staunchlybuilt with stones so heavy that no ordinary ghost could have emergedtherefrom, but to be doubly sure a gigantic log was placed on top of it,strongly clamped down with concealed bands of iron, and, so that thislog might not reveal its purpose, the monks cunningly carved it intosome semblance of Henry himself, until it seemed a recumbent statue ofthe late villainous Count.

  But despite such thoughtfulness their plan failed, for when next theyvisited the tomb the statue lay prone, face downwards, as if someirresistible, unseen power had flung it to the stone flags of the floor.Replacing the statue, and watching by the tomb, was found to be oflittle use. The watchers invariably fell asleep, and the great woodenfigure, which during their last waking moments lay gazing towards theroof, was now on its face on the monastery floor, peering down in theopposite direction, and this somehow was regarded by the brethren as afact of ominous significance.

  The new Count von Sayn, heir to the title and estate of the late HenryIII. was a gloomy, pious man, very different indeed from his turbulentpredecessor. Naturally he was much perturbed by the conduct of thewooden statue. At first he affected disbelief in the phenomena despitethe assurances of the monks, and later on the simple brethren deeplyregretted they had made any mention of the manifestations. The new Counthimself took up the task of watching, and paced all night before thetomb of the third Henry. He was not a man to fall asleep while engagedon such a somber mission, and the outcome of his vigil was so amazingthat in the morning he gathered the brethren together in the great hallof the Abbey, that he might relate to them his experience.

  The wooden statue had turned over, and fallen to the floor, as was itshabit, but on this occasion it groaned as it fell. This mournful soundstruck terror into the heart of the lonely watcher, who now, heconfessed, regretted he had not accepted the offer of the monks to sharehis midnight surveillance. The courage of the House of Sayn is, however,a well-known quality, and, notwithstanding his piety, the new holder ofthe title was possessed of it, for although admitting a momentaryimpulse towards flight, and the calling for assistance which the monkswould readily have given, he stood his ground, and in trembling voiceasked what he could do to forward the contentment of his deceasedrelative.

  The statue replied, still face downward on the stone floor, that nevercould the late wicked Count rest in peace unless the heir to his titlesand lands should take upon himself the sins Henry had committed duringhis life, while a younger member of the family should become a monk ofthe Benedictine Order, and daily intercede for the welfare of his soul.

  "With extreme reluctance," continued the devout nobleman, "I gave myassent to this unwelcome proposal, providing only that it should receivethe sanction of the Abbot and brethren of the Monastery of Sayn, hopingby a life of continuous rectitude to annul, in some measure at least,the evil works of Henry III.; and that holy sanction I now request,trusting if given it may remove any doubts regarding the righteousnessof my promise."

  Here the Count bowed low to the enthroned Abbot and, with lessreverence, to the assembled brethren. The Abbot rose to his feet, and ina few well-chosen words complimented the nobleman on the sacrifice hemade, predicting that it would redound greatly to his spiritual welfare.Speaking for himself, he had no hesitation in giving the requiredsanction, but as the Count made it a proviso that the brethren shouldconcur, he now requested their acquiescence.

  This was accorded in silent unanimity, whereupon Count von Sayn, deeplysighing as one accepting a burden almost too heavy to bear, spoke with atremor of grief in his voice.

  "It is not for me," he said, "to question your wisdom, nor shrink frommy allotted task. After all, I am but human, and up to this decisivemoment had hoped, alas! in vain, that some one more worthy than I mightbe chosen in my place. The most grievous part of the undertaking, so faras I am concerned, was outlined in the last words spoken by the woodenstatue. The evil deeds my ancestor has committed will in time beobliterated by the prayers of the younger member of my family whobecomes a monk, but the accumulated gold carries with it a continualcurse, which can be wiped off each coin only by that coin benefiting themerchants who have been robbed. The contamination of this metal,therefore, I must bear, for it adds to the agony of my ancestor that,little realizing what he was doing, he bequeathed this poisonous drossto the Abbey he founded. I am required to lend it in Frankfort, uponundoubted security and suitable usury, that it may stimulate andfertilize the commerce of the land, much as the contents of a compostheap, disagreeable in the senses, and defiling to him who handles it,when spread upon the fields results in the production of flower, fr
uit,and food, giving fragrance, delight, and sustenance to the human frame."

  The count, bowing for the third time to the conclave, passed from itspresence with mournful step and sorrowful countenance; whereupon thebrethren, seeing themselves thus denuded of wealth they had hoped toenjoy, gave utterance to a groan doubtless much greater in volume thanthat emitted by the carven statue, which wooden figure may be seento-day in the museum of the modern Castle of Sayn by any one who caresto spend the fifty pfennigs charged for admission.

  All that has been related happened generations before the time when theCountess Hildegunde reigned as head of the House of Sayn, but FatherAmbrose formed a link with the past in that he was the present scion ofSayn who, as a Benedictine, daily offered prayer for the repose of thewicked Henry III. The gold which Henry's immediate successor so craftilydeflected from the monks seemed to be blessed rather than cursed, forunder the care of that subtle manager it multiplied greatly inFrankfort, and scandal-mongers asserted that besides receiving the usuryexacted, the pietistic Count tapped the treasure-casks of upward-sailingRhine merchants quite as successfully, if more quietly, than the profaneHenry had done. Thus the House of Sayn was one of the richest inGermany.

  The aged monk and the youthful Countess were distant relatives, but heregarded her as a daughter, and her affection was given to him as to afather, in other than the spiritual sense.

  In his youth Ambrose the Benedictine, because of his eloquence indiscourse, and also on account of his aristocratic rank, officiated atthe court in Frankfort. Later, he became spiritual and temporal adviserto that great prelate, the Archbishop of Cologne, and the Archbishop,being guardian of the Countess von Sayn, sent Father Ambrose to thecastle of his ancestor to look after the affairs of Sayn, both religiousand material. Under his gentle rule the great wealth of his Houseincreased, although he, the cause of prosperity, had no share in theriches he produced, for, as has been written of the Benedictines:

  "It was as teachers of ... scientific agriculture, as drainers of fensand morasses, as clearers of forests, as makers of roads, as tillers ofthe reclaimed soil, as architects of durable and even stately buildings,as exhibiting a visible type of orderly government, as establishing thesuperiority of peace over war as the normal condition of life, asstudents in the library which the rule set up in every monastery, as themasters in schools open not merely to their own postulants but to thechildren of secular families also, that they won their high place inhistory as benefactors of mankind."

  * * * * *

  "Oh, Father Ambrose," cried the girl, when at last he entered herpresence, "I watched your approach from afar off. You walked withhalting step, and shoulders increasingly bowed. You are wearing yourselfout in my service, and that I cannot permit. You return this evening atired man."

  "Not physically tired," replied the monk, with a smile. "My head isbowed with meditation and prayer, rather than with fatigue. Indeed, itis others who do the harassing manual labor, while I simply direct andinstruct. Sometimes I think I am an encumberer in the vineyard, lazilyusing brain instead of hand."

  "Nonsense!" cried the girl, "the vineyard would be but a barrenplantation without you; and speaking of it reminds me that I have pouredout, with my own hand, a tankard of the choicest, oldest wine in ourcellars, which I allow no one but yourself to taste. Sit down, I beg ofyou, and drink."

  The wise old man smiled, wondering what innocent trap was being set forhim. He raised the tankard to his lips, but merely indulged in one sipof the delectable beverage. Then he seated himself, and looked at thegirl, still smiling. She went on speaking rapidly, a delicate flushwarming her fair cheeks.

  "Father, you are the most patient and indefatigable of agriculturists,sparing neither yourself nor others, but there is danger that you growbucolic through overlong absence from the great affairs of this world."

  "What can be greater, my child, than increasing the productiveness ofthe land; than training men to supply all their needs from the fruitfulearth?"

  "True, true," admitted the girl, her eyes sparkling with eagerness, "butto persist overlong even in well-doing becomes ultimately tedious. Ifthe laborer is worthy of his hire, so, too, is the master. You shouldtake a change, and as I know your fondness for travel, I have planned ajourney for you."

  The old man permitted himself another sip of the wine.

  "Where?" he asked.

  "Oh, an easy journey; no farther than the royal city of Frankfort, thereto wander among the scenes of your youth, and become interested for atime in the activities of your fellow-men. You have so long consortedwith those inferior to you in intellect and learning that a meeting withyour equals--though I doubt if there are any such even inFrankfort--must prove as refreshing to your mind as that old wine wouldto your body, did you but obey me and drink it."

  Father Ambrose slowly shook his head.

  "From what I hear of Frankfort," he said, "it is anything but aninspiring town. In my day it was indeed a place of cheer, learning, andprosperity, but now it is a city of desolation."

  "The rumors we hear, Father, may be exaggerated; and even if the cityitself be doleful, which I doubt, there is sure to be light and gayetyin the precincts of the Court and in the homes of the nobility."

  "What have I to do with Court or palaces? My duty lies here."

  "It may be," cried the girl archly, "that some part of your duty liesthere. If Frankfort is indeed in bad case, your sage advice might be ofthe greatest benefit. Prosperity seems to follow your footsteps, and,besides, you were once a chaplain in the Court, and surely you have notlost all interest in your former charge?"

  Again that quiet, engaging smile lit up the monk's emaciated features,and then he asked a question with that honest directness which sometimesembarrassed those he addressed:

  "Daughter Hildegunde, what is it you want?"

  "Well," said the girl, sitting very upright in her chair, "I confess toloneliness. The sameness of life in this castle oppresses me, and in itscontinuous dullness I grow old before my time. I wish to enjoy a monthor two in Frankfort, and, as doubtless you have guessed, I send youforth as my ambassador to spy out the land."

  "In such case, daughter, you should present your petition to that Princeof the Church, the Archbishop of Cologne, who is your guardian."

  "No, no, no, no!" cried the girl emphatically; "you are putting thegrapes into the barrel instead of into the vat. Before I trouble theworthy Archbishop with my request, I must learn whether it ispracticable or not. If the city is indeed in a state of turbulence, ofcourse I shall not think of going thither. It is this I wish todiscover, but if you are afraid." She shrugged her shoulders and spreadout her hands.

  And now the old monk came as near to laughing as he ever did.

  "Clever, Hildegunde, but unnecessary. You cannot spur me to action byslighting the well-known valor of our race. I will go where and when youcommand me, and report to you faithfully what I see and hear. Should thetime seem favorable for you to visit Frankfort, and if your guardianconsents, I shall raise not even one objection."

  "Oh, dear Father, I do not lay this as a command upon you."

  "No; a request is quite sufficient. To-morrow morning I shall set out."

  "Along the Rhine?" queried the girl, so eagerly that the old man's eyestwinkled at the celerity with which she accepted his proposition.

  "I think it safer," he said, "to journey inland over the hills. Therobbers on the Rhine have been so long bereft of the natural prey thatone or other of them may forget I am Father Ambrose, a poor monk,remembering me only as Henry of the rich House of Sayn, and thereforehold me for ransom. I would not willingly be a cause of strife, so Ishall go by way of Limburg on the Lahn, and there visit my old friendthe Bishop, and enjoy once more a sight of the ancient Cathedral on thecliff by the river."

  When the young Countess awoke next morning, and reviewed in her mind thechief event of the preceding day, remembering the reluctance of FatherAmbrose to undertake the quest she had outlined
without the consent ofhis overlord the Archbishop, a feeling of compunction swept over her.She berated her own selfishness, resolving to send her petition to herguardian, the Archbishop, and abide by his decision.

  When breakfast was finished, she asked her lady-in-waiting to requestthe presence of Father Ambrose, but instead of the monk came disturbingnews.

  "The seneschal says that Father Ambrose left the Castle at daybreak thismorning, taking with him frugal rations for a three days' journey."

  "In which direction did he go?" asked the lady of Sayn.

  "He went on horseback up the valley, after making inquiries about theroute to Limburg on the Lahn."

  "Ah!" said the Countess. "He spoke yesterday of taking such a journey,but I did not think he would leave so early."

  This was the beginning of great anxiety for the young lady of theCastle. She knew at once that pursuit was useless, for daybreak comesearly in summer, and already the good Father had been five hours on hisway--a way that he was certain to lose many times before he reached thecapital city. An ordinary messenger might have been overtaken, but themeditative Father would go whither his horse carried him, and when heawoke from his thoughts and his prayers, would make inquiries, and soproceed. A day or two later came a message that he had achieved thehospitality of Limburg's bishop, but after that arrived no further word.

  Nearly two weeks had elapsed when, from the opposite direction,Hildegunde received a communication which added to her already painfulapprehension. It was a letter from her guardian in Cologne, givingwarning that within a week he would call at her Castle of Sayn.

  "Matters of great import to you and me," concluded the Archbishop, "aretoward. You will be called upon to meet formally my two colleagues ofMayence and Treves, at the latter's strong Castle of Stolzenfels, aboveCoblentz. From the moment we enter that palace-fortress, I shall,temporarily, at least, cease to be your guardian, and become merely oneof your three overlords. But however frowningly I may sit in the throneof an Elector, believe me I shall always be your friend. Tell FatherAmbrose I wish to consult with him the moment I arrive at your castle,and that he must not absent himself therefrom on any pretext until hehas seen me."

  Here was trouble indeed, with Father Ambrose as completely disappearedas if the dragons of the Taunus had swallowed him. Never before on hisjourneys had he failed to communicate with her, even when his travelswere taken on account of the Archbishop, and not, as in this case, onher own. She experienced the darkest forebodings from this incrediblesilence. Imagine, then, her relief, when exactly two weeks from the dayhe had left Schloss Sayn, she saw him coming down the valley. As whenshe last beheld him, he traveled on foot, leading his horse, that hadgone lame.

  Throwing etiquette to the wind, she flew down the stairway, and ran tomeet her thrice-welcome friend.

  She realized with grief that he was haggard, and the smile he called upto greet her was wan and pitiful.

  "Oh, Father, Father!" she cried, "what has happened to you? I have beennearly distraught with doubt and fear, hearing nothing of you since yourmessage from Limburg."

  "I was made a prisoner," said the old man quietly, "and allowed tocommunicate with no one outside my cell. 'Tis a long and sad story, and,worse than all one that bodes ill for the Empire. I should have arrivedearlier in the day, but my poor, patient beast has fallen lame."

  "Yes!" said the girl indignantly, "and you spare him instead ofyourself!"

  The monk laid his left hand affectionately on her shoulder.

  "You would have done the same, my dear," he said, and she looked up athim with a sweet smile. They were kin, and if she censured any qualityin him, the comment carried something of self-reproach.

  A servitor took away the lame horse; another waited on Father Ambrose inhis small room, which was simple as that of a monastery cell, and asmeagerly furnished. After a slight refection, Father Ambrose receivedperemptory command to rest for three full hours, the lady of the Castlesaying it was impossible for her to receive him until that time hadelapsed. The order was welcome to the tired monk, although he knew howimpatient Hildegunde must be to unpack his budget of news, and he fellasleep even as he gave instructions that he should be awakened at nine.

  Descending at that time, the supper hour of the Castle, he found adainty meal awaiting him, flanked by a flagon of that rare wine which hesipped so sparingly.

  "I lodged with my brethren in their small and quiet monastery on theopposite side of the Main from Frankfort, in that suburb of theworkingmen which is called Sachsenhausen. Even if my eyes had not seenthe desolation of the city, with the summer grass growing in many of itsstreets, the description given of its condition by my brethren wouldhave been saddening enough to hear. All authority seems at an end. Thenobles have fled to their country estates, for defense in the city isimpossible should once a universal riot break out, and thinking men lookfor an insurrection when continued hunger has worn down the patience ofthe people. Up to the present sporadic outbreaks have been cruellysuppressed, starving men falling mutilated before the sword-cuts of thesoldiers; but now disaffection has penetrated the ranks of the Armyitself, through short rations and deferred pay, and when the peoplelearn that the military are more like to join them than oppose,destruction will fall upon Frankfort. The Emperor sits alone in drunkenstupor, and it is said cannot last much longer, he who has lasted toolong already; while the Empress is as much a recluse as a nun in aconvent."

  "But the young Prince?" interrupted the Countess. "What of him? Is thereno hope if he comes to the throne?"

  "Ah!" cried the monk, with a long-drawn sigh, dolefully shaking hishead.

  "But, Father Ambrose, you knew him as a lad, almost as a young man. Ihave heard you speak highly of his promise."

  "He denied me; denied his own identity; threatened my life with hissword, and finally flung me into the most loathsome dungeon in allFrankfort!"

  The girl uttered an ejaculation of dismay. If so harsh an estimate ofthe heir-presumptive came from so mild and gentle a critic as FatherAmbrose, then surely was this young man lower in the grade of humanitythan even his bestial father.

  "And yet," said the girl to herself, "what else was to be expected? Goon," she murmured; "tell me from the beginning."

  "One evening, crossing the old bridge from Frankfort to Sachsenhausen, Isaw approach me a swaggering figure that seemed familiar, and as he drewnearer I recognized Prince Roland, son of the Emperor, despite the factthat he held his cloak over the lower part of his face, as if, in thegathering dusk, to avoid recognition.

  "'Your Highness!' I cried in surprise. On the instant his sword was out,and as the cloak fell from his face, displaying lips which took on asinister firmness, I saw that I was not mistaken in so accosting him. Hethrew a quick glance from side to side, but the bridge, like the silentstreets, was deserted. We stood alone, beside the iron Cross, and thereunder the Figure of Christ he denied me, with the sharp point of hissword against my breast.

  "'Why do you dare address me by such a title?'

  "'You are Prince Roland, son of the Emperor.'

  "The sword-point pressed more sharply.

  "'You lie!' he cried, 'and if you reiterate that falsehood, you will paythe penalty instantly with your life, despite your monkish cowl. I amnobody. I have no father.'

  "'May I ask, then, sir, who you are?'

  "'You may ask, but there is no reason for me to answer. Nevertheless, tosatisfy your impertinent curiosity, I inform you that I am anironworker, a maker of swords, and if you desire a taste of myhandiwork, you have but to persist in your questioning. I lodge in thelaboring quarter of Sachsenhausen, and am now on my way into Frankfort,which surely I have the right to enter free from any inquiryunauthorized by the law.'

  "'In that case I beg your pardon,' said I. 'The likeness is verystriking. I had once the honor to be chaplain at Court, where frequentlyI saw the young Prince in company with that noble lady, noble in everysense of the word, his mother, the Empress.'

  "I watched the young man
narrowly as I said this, and despite hisself-control, he winced perceptibly, and I thought I saw a gleam ofrecognition in his eyes. He thrust the sword back into its scabbard, andsaid with a light laugh:

  "''Tis I that should beg your pardon for my haste and roughness. Iassure you I honor the cloth you wear, and would not willingly offer itviolence. We are all liable to make mistakes at times. I freely forgiveyours and trust you will extend a like leniency to mine.'

  "With that he doffed his hat, and left me standing there."

  "Surely," said the Countess, deeply interested in the recital, "so faras speech was concerned he made amends?"

  "Yes, my daughter; such speech never came from the lips of anironworker."

  "You are convinced he was the Prince?"

  "Never for one instant did I doubt it."

  "Be that as it may, Father Ambrose, why should not the young man walkthe streets of his own capital city, and even explore the laborers'quarter of Sachsenhausen, if he finds it interesting to do so? Is it nothis right to wear a sword, and go where he lists; and is it such a veryheinous thing that, being accosted by a stranger, he should refuse tomake the admission demanded? You took him, as one might say, unaware."

  The monk bowed his head, but did not waste time in offering any defenseof his action.

  "I followed him," he went on, "through the narrow and tortuous streetsof Frankfort, an easy adventure, because darkness had set in, but evenin daylight my course would have been safe enough, for never once did helook over his shoulder, or betray any of that suspicion characteristicof our laboring classes."

  "I think that tells in his favor," persisted the girl.

  "He came to the steps of the Rheingold, a disreputable drinking cellar,and disappeared from my sight down its steps. A great shout greeted him,and the rattle of tankards on a table, as he joined what was evidentlyhis coterie. Standing outside, I heard song and ribaldry within. Theheir-presumptive to the throne of the Empire was too obviously a drunkenbrawler; a friend and comrade of the lowest scum in Frankfort.

  "After a short time he emerged alone, and once more I followed him. Hewent with the directness of a purposeful man to the Fahrgasse, thestreet of the rich merchants, knocked at a door, and was admitted. Alongthe first-floor front were three lighted windows, and I saw his formpass the first two of these, but from my station in the street could notwitness what was going on within. Looking about me, I found to my righta narrow alley, occupied by an outside stairway. This I mounted, andfrom its topmost step I beheld the interior of the large room on theopposite side of the way.

  "It appeared to me that Prince Roland had been expected, for the elderlyman seated at the table, his calm face toward me, showed no surprise atthe Prince's entrance. His Highness sat with his back towards me, andfor a time it seemed that nothing was going forward but an amiableconversation. Suddenly the Prince rose, threw off his cloak, whisked outhis sword, and presented its point at the throat of the merchant.

  "It was clear, from the expression of dismay on the merchant's face,that this move on the part of his guest was entirely unexpected, but itsobject was speedily manifested. The old man, with trembling hand, pushedacross the table to his assailant a well-filled bag, which the Prince atonce untied. Pouring out a heap of yellow gold, he began with greatdeliberation to count the money, which, when you consider his precarioussituation, showed the young man to be old in crime. Some portion of thegold he returned to the merchant; the rest he dropped into an empty bag,which he tied to his belt.

  "I did not wait to see anything more, but came down to the foot of thestairs, that I might learn if Roland took his money to his dissolutecomrades. He came out, and once more I followed him, and once more heled me to the Rheingold cellar. On this occasion, however, I took stepby step with him until we entered the large wineroom at the foot of thestairs, he less than an arm's length in front of me, still under theillusion that he was alone. Prince though he was, I determined toexpostulate with him, and if possible persuade a restitution of thegold.

  "'Your Highness!' I began, touching him lightly on the shoulder.

  "Instantly he turned upon me with a savage oath, grasped me by thethroat, and forced me backward against the cellar wall.

  "'You spying sneak!' he cried. 'In spite of my warning you have beenhounding my footsteps!'

  "The moment I attempted to reply, he throttled me so as to choke everyeffort at utterance. There now approached us, with alarm in hiswine-colored face, a gross, corpulent man, whom the Prince addressed asproprietor of the place, which doubtless he was.

  "'Landlord,' said Roland very quietly, 'this unfortunate monk is weak inthe head, and although he means no harm with his meddling, he may wellcause disaster to my comrades and myself. Earlier in the evening heaccosted on the bridge, but I spared him, hoping never to see hismonkish costume again. You may judge the state of his mind when I tellyou he accuses me of being the Emperor's son, and Heaven only knows whathe would estimate to be the quality of my comrades were he to see them.'

  "Two or three times I attempted to speak, but the closing of his fingersupon my throat prevented me, and even when they were slightly relaxed Iwas scarcely able to breathe."

  The Countess listened with the closest attention, fixing upon thenarrator her splendid eyes, and in them, despite their feminine beautyand softness, seemed to smoulder a deep fire of resentment at thetreatment accorded her kinsman, a luminant of danger transmitted to herdown the ages from ancestors equally ready to fight for the Sepulcher inPalestine or for the gold on the borders of the Rhine. In the pause,during which the monk wiped from his wrinkled brow the moisture broughtthere by remembrance of the indignity he had undergone, kindliness inthe eyes of the Countess overcame their menace, and she said gently:

  "I am quite confident, Father, that such a ruffian could not be PrinceRoland. He was indeed the rude mechanic he proclaimed himself. No man ofnoble blood would have acted thus."

  "Listen, my child, listen," resumed Father Ambrose. "Turning to thelandlord, the Prince asked:

  "'Is there a safe and vacant room in your establishment where I couldbestow this meddlesome priest for a few days?'

  "'There is a wine vault underneath this drinking cellar,' responded thelandlord.

  "'Does anyone enter that vault except yourself?'

  "'No one,'

  "'Will you undertake charge of the priest, seeing that he communicateswith none outside?'

  "'Of a surety, Captain,'

  "'Good. I will pay you well, and that in advance.'"

  "This ruffian was never the Prince," interrupted the Countess firmly.

  "I beg you to listen, Hildegunde, and my next sentence will convinceyou. The Prince continued:

  "'Not only prevent his communication with others, but do not listen tohim yourself. He will endeavor to persuade you that his name is FatherAmbrose, and that he is a monk in good standing with the BenedictineOrder. If he finds you care little for that, he may indeed pretend he isof noble origin himself; that he is Henry von Sayn, and thus endeavor towork on whatever sympathy you may feel for the aristocrats. But I assureyou he is no more a Sayn than I am Prince Roland.'

  "'Indeed, Captain,' replied the host, 'I have as little liking for anaristocrat as for a monk, so you may depend that I will keep him safeenough until you order his release.'

  "Now, my dear Hildegunde, you see there was no mistake on my part. Thisyoung man asserted he knew nothing of me, and indeed, I believed he hadforgotten the time of my chaplaincy at the Court, often as he listenedto my discourses, yet all the time he knew me, and now, with aneffrontery that seems incredible, he showed no hesitation in proving meright when I accosted him as son of the Emperor. I must in justice,however, admit that he instructed the landlord when he paid him, totreat me with gentleness, and to see that I had plenty to eat and drink.When three days had expired, I was to be allowed my liberty.

  "'He can do no harm then,' concluded the Prince, in his talk with thelandlord, 'for by that time I shall have succeeded or failed.'
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  "I was led down a narrow, broken stairway by the proprietor, and thrustinto a dark and damp cellar, partially filled with casks of wine, andthere I remained until set at liberty a few days ago.

  "I returned at once to the Benedictine Monastery where I had lodged,expecting to find my brethren filled with anxiety concerning me, butsuch was not the case. Any one man is little missed in this world, andmy comrades supposed that I was invited to the Court, and had forgottenthem as I saw they had forgotten me, so I said nothing of my adventure,but mounted my waiting horse and journeyed back to the Castle of Sayn."

  For a long time there was silence between the two, then the youngerspoke.

  "Do you intend to take any action regarding your unauthorizedimprisonment?"

  "Oh, no," replied the forgiving monk.

  "Is it certain that this dissolute young man will be chosen Emperor?"

  "There is a likelihood, but not a certainty."

  "Would not the election of such a person to the highest position in theState prove even a greater misfortune to the land than the continuanceof the present regime, for this young man adds to his father's vice ofdrunkenness the evil qualities, of dishonesty, cruelty, ribaldry, and alack of respect for the privileges both of Church and nobility?"

  "Such indeed is my opinion, daughter."

  "Then is it not your duty at once to acquaint the three Archbishops withwhat you have already told me, so that the disaster of his election maybe avoided?"

  "It is a matter to which I gave deep thought during my journey thither,and I also invoked the aid of Heaven in guiding me to a justconclusion."

  "And that conclusion, Father?"

  "Is to say nothing whatever about my experiences in Frankfort."

  "Why?"

  "Because it is not given to a humble man like myself, occupying aposition of no authority, to fathom what may be in the minds of thosegreat Princes of the Church, the Archbishops. In effect they rule thecountry, and it is possible that they prefer to place on the throne adrunken nonentity who will offer no impediment to their ambitions,rather than to elect a moral young man who might in time prove toostrong for them."

  "I am sure no such motive would actuate the Archbishop of Cologne."

  "His Lordship of Cologne, my child, dare not break with their Lordshipsof Treves and Mayence, so you may be sure that if these two wish toelect Prince Roland Emperor, nothing I could say to the Archbishop ofCologne would prevent that choice."

  "Oh, I had forgotten, in the excitement of listening to your adventures,but talking of the Archbishop reminds me his Highness of Cologne willvisit us to-morrow, and he especially wishes to see you. You may imaginemy anxiety when I received his message a few days ago, knowing nothingof your whereabouts."

  "Wishes to see me?" ejaculated Father Ambrose, wrinkling a perplexedbrow. "I wonder what for. Can he have any knowledge of my visit toFrankfort?"

  "How could he?"

  "The Archbishops possess sources of enlightenment that we wot not of. Ifhe charges me with being absent from my post, I must admit the fact."

  "Of course. Let me confess to him as soon as he arrives; your journeywas entirely due to my persistence. I alone am to blame."

  The old man slowly shook his head.

  "I am at least equally culpable," he said. "I shall answer truthfullyany question asked me, but I hope I am not in the wrong if I volunteerno information."

  The girl rose.

  "You could do no wrong, Father, even if you tried; and now good-night.Sleep soundly and fear nothing. On the rare occasions when the goodArchbishop was angry with me, I have always managed to placate him, andI shall not fail in this instance."

  Father Ambrose bade her good-night, and left the room with the languidair of one thoroughly tired. As the young Countess stood there watchinghis retreat and disappearance, her dainty little fist clenched, and hereyebrows came together, bringing to her handsome face the determinedexpression which marked the countenances of some of her Crusaderancestors whose portraits decorated the walls.

  "If ever I get that ruffian Prince Roland into my power," she said toherself, "I will make him regret his treatment of so tolerant andforbearing a man as Father Ambrose."