and Ruth once more, so he declared that he would retain his office,
but should be obliged to ride to Antwerp that day, secretly inform
the officers of the conspiracy against the city, and the necessity of
negotiating with the commandant, that their share of the rich prize
might not be lost.

What many had suspected and hoped was now to become reality. Their
Eletto was no idle man! When Navarrete appeared at noon in front of the
troops with his own work, the standard, in his hand, he was received
with shouts of joy, and no one murmured, though many recognized in the
Madonna's countenance the features of the murdered sibyl.

Two days later Ulrich, full of eager expectation, rode into Antwerp,
carrying in his portmanteau the mementos he had taken from his mother's
chest, while in imagination he beheld his father's face, the smithy
at Richtberg, the green forest, the mountains of his home, the Costas'
house, and his little playfellow. Would he really be permitted to lean
on his father's broad breast once more?

And Ruth, Ruth! Did she still care for him, had Philipp described her
correctly?

He went to the count without delay, and found him at home. Philipp
received him cordially, yet with evident timidity and embarrassment.
Ulrich too was grave, for he had to inform his companion of his mother's
death.

"So that is settled," said the count. "Your father is a gnarled old
tree, a real obstinate Swabian. It's not his way to forgive and forget."

"And did he know that my mother was so near to him, that she was in
Aalst."

"All, all!"

"He will forgive the dead. Surely, surely he will, if I beseech him,
when we are united, if I tell him...."

"Poor fellow! You think all this is so easy.--It is long since I have
had so hard a task, yet I must speak plainly. He will have nothing to do
with you, either."

"Nothing to do with me?" cried Ulrich.

"Is he out of his senses? What sin have I committed, what does he...."

"He knows that you are Navarrete, the Eletto of Herenthals, the
conqueror of Aalst, and therefore...."

"Therefore?"

"Why of course. You see, Ulrich, when a man becomes famous like you, he
is known for a long distance, everything he does makes a great hue and
cry, and echo repeats it in every alley."

"To my honor before God and man."

"Before God? Perhaps so; certainly before the Spaniards. As for me--I
was with the squadron myself, I call you a brave soldier; but--no
offence--you have behaved il