"Ah, Captain Roland, you are very young, and, I fear, inexperienced, despite your filibustering. However, this lovely, still, summer night, with its warm, velvety darkness, was made for pleasant thoughts. Enough about myself. Let me hear something of you. Did you come up the river or down, with your barge?"

"We came down."

"How long since you adopted a career of crime? You do not seem to be a hardened villain."

"Believe me," protested Roland earnestly, "I am not, and I do not admit that my career is one of crime."

"Indeed," said the girl, laughing again, "I am not so gullible as you think. I could almost fancy that you were the incendiary of Furstenberg Castle."

"What!" exclaimed Roland in consternation. "How came you to learn of its destruction?"

"There!" cried the girl gleefully, "you have all but confessed. You are as startled as if I had said: 'I arrest you in the name of the Emperor!'"

"Who told you that Furstenberg Castle was burned?" demanded the young man sternly.

"Yesterday morning there came swiftly down the river, with no less than twelve oarsmen, a long, thin boat, traveling like the wind. It did not pause at Pfalz, but the man standing in the stern hailed the Castle, and shouted to the Pfalzgraf that Furstenberg had been burned by the outlaws of the Hunsruck. He was on his way to Bonn to inform the Archbishop of Cologne, and he carried also Imperial news for his Lordship: tidings that the Emperor is dead."

"Dead!" breathed Roland in horror, scarcely above his breath. "The Emperor dead! I wonder if that can be true."

"Little matter whether it is true or no," said the girl indifferently.

"He doubtless pa.s.sed away in a drunken sleep, and I am told his drunken son will be elected in his place."

"Madam!" said Roland harshly, awakened from his stupor by her words, "I must inform your ignorance that the Emperor's son is not a drunkard, and, indeed, scarcely touches wine at all, being a most strenuous opposer to its misuse. How can one so fair, and, as I believed, so honest, repeat such unfounded slander?"

"Are you a partisan of his?"

"I come from Frankfort; have seen the Prince, and know I speak the truth."

"Ah, well," replied the girl lightly, "you and I will not quarrel over his Highness. I accept your amendment, and will never more bear false witness against him. After all, it makes slight difference one way or the other. An Emperor goes, and an Emperor is elected in his place as powerless as his predecessor. 'Tis the Archbishops who rule."

"You seem well versed in politics, Madam."

The girl leaned forward to him.

"Do not 'madam' me, I beg of you, Roland. I dare say rumor has prejudiced me against the young man, but I have promised not to speak slightingly of him again. I wish this veil of darkness was lifted, that I might see your face, to note the effect of anger. Do you know, I am disappointed in you, Roland? You spoke in such level tones in the courtyard that I thought anger was foreign to your nature."

"I am not angry," said Roland gruffly, "but I detest malicious gossip."

"Oh, so do I, so do I! I spoke thoughtlessly. I will kneel to the new Emperor and beg his pardon, if you insist."

Roland remained silent, and for a time they floated thus down the river, she trailing her fingers in the water, which made a pleasant ripple against them, looking up at him now and then. Perceptibly the darkness was thinning. One seemed to smell morning in the air. A bird piped dreamily in the forest at intervals, as if only half-awakened. The two women reclining in the prow were sound asleep.

Roland picked up the paddle, and with a strong, sweeping stroke turned the head of the boat towards the land. Now she could see his lowering brow, and if the sight pleased her, 'twas not manifested in her next remark.

She took her hand from the water, drew herself up proudly, and said:

"I shall not apologize to you again, and I hate your blameless Prince!"

"Madam, I ask for no apology, and whether you hate or like the Prince matters nothing to me, or, I dare say, to him, either."

"Cannot you even allow a woman her privilege of the last word?" she cried indignantly.

Roland's brow cleared, and a smile came to his lips, as he remained silent, thus bestowing upon her the prerogative she seemed to crave.

Hilda lay back in the prow of the boat between her sleeping women, with hands clasped behind her head, and her eyes closed. More and more the light increased, and st.u.r.dily with his paddle Roland propelled the boat towards the sh.o.r.e, bringing it alongside the low bank at last. He sprang out on the turf, and with the paddle in one hand held the boat to land with the other.

"We are now," he said, "a short distance above St. Goarhausen, where I hope to purchase horses. Will you kindly disembark?"

The girl, without moving, or opening her eyes, said quietly:

"Please throw the paddle into the boat again. I shall make for Nonnenwerth in this craft, which is more comfortable than a saddle."

The paddle came rattling down upon the bottom of the skiff. Roland stooped, and before she knew what he was about, took Hilda in his arms, lifted her ash.o.r.e, and laid her carefully on the gra.s.s.

"Come," he cried to the newly-awakened serving-women, "tumble out of that without further delay," and they obeyed him in haste.

He stepped into the skiff, flung their belongings on the sward, turned the prow to the west, and, leaping ash.o.r.e, bestowed a kick upon the boat that impelled it like an arrow far out into the stream.

Hilda was standing on her feet now, speechless with indignation.

"Come along," urged Roland cheerfully, "breakfast awaits us when we earn it;" but seeing that she made no move, the frown furrowed his brow again.

"Madam," he said, "I tell you frankly that to be thwarted by petulance annoys me. It happens that time is of the utmost importance until we are much farther from Pfalz. If you think that the ownership of wealth and a castle gives you the right to flout a plain, ordinary man, you take a mistaken view of things. I care nothing for your castle, or for your wealth. You may be a lady of t.i.tle for aught I know, but even that does not impress me. We must not stand here like two quarrelsome children. I will conduct you to the Adler Inn at St. Goarhausen, where I know from experience you will be taken care of. I shall then purchase four horses, and return to the inn after you have breakfasted. Three of these horses are at your disposal, also the fourth and myself, if you will condescend to make use of us. If not, I shall ask you to accept what money you need for your journey, so that you may travel north unmolested, while I take my way in the other direction."

"How can I repay the money," she demanded, "if I do not know who and what you are?"

"I shall send for it, either to your Castle of Sayn, or the Convent of Nonnenwerth. You need be under no obligation to me."

"But," cried the girl with a sob, "I am already under obligation to you; an obligation which I cannot repay."

"Oh yes, you can."

"How?"

"By coming with me, who will persuade you, as readily as you did with your guardian, who coerced you."

"I am an ungrateful simpleton," she murmured. "Of course your way is the right one, and I am quite helpless if you desert me."

"There," cried Roland, with enthusiasm, "you have more than repaid whatever you may owe."

After breakfasting at St. Goarhausen and purchasing the horses, they journeyed down the rough road that extended along the right bank of the Rhine. Roland and Hilda rode side by side, the other two following some distance to the rear. The young man maintained a gloomy silence, and the girl, misapprehending his thoughts, remained silent also, with downcast eyes, seeing nothing of the beautiful scenery they were pa.s.sing. Every now and then Roland cast a sidelong glance at her, and his melancholy deepened as he remembered how heedlessly he had pledged his word to the three Archbishops regarding his marriage.

"I see," she said at last, "that I have offended you more seriously than I feared."

"No, no," he a.s.sured her. "There is a burden that I cannot cast from my mind."

"May I know what it is?"

"I dare not tell you, Hilda. I have been a fool. I am in the position of a man who must break his oath and live dishonored, or keep it, and remain for ever unhappy. Which would you do were you in my place?"