er, the noble man to
whom he owed everything, and who clung with his whole soul to the beloved
youth, his image in mind and person--how would the Emperor Rudolph endure
this? But a few months ago death had snatched from him his wife, the love
of his youth, the mother of his children, the companion of his glorious
career! The thought of him stirred Heinz to the depths of his soul, and
he would fain have hastened at once to the castle to help the stricken
father bear the new and terrible burden imposed upon him. But he must
first care for the messenger of these terrible tidings who, with lips
white from exhaustion, needed refreshment.

Biberli, who saw and thought of everything, had already urged the hostess
to do what she could, and sent the servant to the tailor that, when Heinz
rode to the fortress, he might not lack the mourning--a tabard would
suffice--which could be made in a few hours.

Frau Barbara had just brought the lunch and promised to obey the command
to keep the terrible news which she had just heard a secret from every
one, that the rumor might not reach the fortress prematurely, when
another visitor appeared--Heinz Schorlin's cousin, Sir Arnold Maier of
Silenen, a tall, broad-shouldered man of fifty, with stalwart frame and
powerful limbs.

His grave, bronzed countenance, framed by a grey beard, revealed that he,
too, brought no cheering news. He had never come to his young cousin's at
so early an hour.

His intelligent, kindly grey eyes surveyed Heinz with astonishment. What
had befallen the happy-hearted fellow? But when he heard the news which
had wet the young knight's eyes with tears, his own lips also quivered,
and his deep, manly tones faltered as he laid his heavy hands on the
mourner's shoulders and gazed tearfully into his eyes. At last he
exclaimed mournfully: "My poor, poor boy! Pray to Him to whom we owe all
that is good, and who tries us with the evil. Would to God I had less
painful tidings for you!"

Heinz shrank back, but his cousin told him the tidings learned from a
Swiss messenger scarcely an hour before. The dispute over the bridge toll
had caused a fight. The uncle who supplied a father's place to Heinz and
managed his affairs--brave old Walther Ramsweg--was killed; Schorlin
Castle had been taken by the city soldiery and, at the command of the
chief magistrate, razed to the ground. Wendula Schorlin, Heinz's mother,
with her daughter Maria, had fallen into the hands of the city s