boiling kettle; nor could she be at peace,
even among the company who were awaiting the bidding to table. Many an
one marked that something more than common was amiss with her. I
refrained myself well enough, and I excused my brother's and my lover's
absence with a plea of weighty affairs. My grand-uncle, however, guessed
the truth, and when I gave true answer to his short, murmured questions
he wrathfully cried: then these were the thanks he got? Henceforth he
would plainly show how he, who had been a benefactor, could deal with the
youth who had dared to mock his authority. Hereupon I besought him first
to grant me a hearing for a few words; but he waved me away in ire, and
signed to Ursula, who hung on his arm, and she set her lips tight when he
presently with wrathful eyes whispered somewhat in her ear whereof I
believed I could guess the intent. And when I beheld her call Sir Franz
von Welemisl to her side and give him her hand, speaking a few words in a
low voice, I discerned that, in truth she knew all.

She presently led her father aside and told him somewhat which brought
the blood to his ashy face, and led him to say her nay right vehemently.
But, as she was wont, she made good her own will and he shrugged his
shoulders, wrathful indeed, but overmastered by her.

During this space the great door of the refectory had been thrown open,
and when Tetzel with his old mother moved that way, desiring the guests
to follow him, my Uncle Christian, Ann's faithful friend, whispered to me
that Herdegen had told him that he was now pledged to his "dear little
warder," and likewise what was on hand between him and the Junker von
Beust. I might be easy, quoth he; the Brandenburger would have a bitter
taste of Nuremberg steel, of that he was fully assured. And he ended his
speech with a merry: "Hold up your head, Margery."

Then we all sat down at the laden table, Dame Clara sitting at the top,
albeit she looked but sullen and ill to please.

Ursula had chosen to set Sir Franz by her side. Herdegen's seat, at her
left hand, was vacant; and she bid her white Brabant hound, as though in
jest, to leap into it. The meal was served, but it all went in such
gloomy silence that Master Muffel, of the town-council, whom they named
Master Gall-Muffel, whispered across the table to my Uncle Christian "was
it not strange to give a funeral feast without ever a corpse." Again I
shuddered. My jovial uncle had already lifted his glass, an