he head of the Council, and therefore of the city also.
Duty had commanded him to mount his steed, but how pale and haggard was
his shrewd face, usually so animated!

Just in front of the Ortlieb mansion the commander of the German knights
rode to his side, and Eva saw how warmly he shook him by the hand, as if
he desired to show the old man very cordially his deep sympathy in some
sore trouble which had assailed him.

Ever since Wolff's betrothal to Els had been announced the Vorchtels had
ceased to be on terms of intimacy with the Ortliebs; but old Herr
Berthold, though he himself had probably regarded young Eysvogel as his
"Ursel's" future husband, had always treated Eva kindly, and she was not
mistaken--tears were glittering on his cheeks in the torchlight. The
sight touched the young girl's inmost heart. How eagerly she desired to
know what had befallen the Vorchtels, and to give the old man some token
of sympathy! What could have caused him so much sorrow? Only a few hours
before her father had returned from a gay entertainment at his house. It
could scarcely concern Herr Berthold's wife, his daughter Ursula, or
either of his two vigorous sons. Perhaps death had only bereft him of
some more distant, though beloved relative, yet surely she would have
known that, for the Ortliebs were connected by marriage both with the old
gentleman and his wife.

Tortured by a presentiment of evil, Eva gazed after him, and also watched
for Heinz Schorlin among the people in the street. Must not anxiety for
her bring him hither, if he learned how near her house the fire was
burning?

Whenever a helmet or knight's baret appeared above the crowd she thought
that he was coming. Once she believed that she had certainly recognised
him, for a tall young man of knightly bearing appeared, not mounted, but
on foot, and stopped opposite to the Ortlieb house. That must be he! But
when he looked up to her window, the reflection of the fire showed that
the man who had made her heart beat so quickly was indeed a young and
handsome knight, but by no means the person for whom she had mistaken
him. It was Boemund Altrosen, famed as victor in many a tournament, who
when a boy had often been at the house of her uncle, Herr Pfinzing. There
was no mistaking his coal-black, waving locks. It was said that the
dark-blue sleeve of a woman's robe which he wore on his helmet in the
jousts belonged to the Countess von Montfort. She was his lady, for whom