rtune of
war flung me under the Spanish flag, and 'whose bread I eat, his song I
sing,' says the soldier. What would you have? I served with honor, and
have done some doughty deeds; let that content you."

This angered Ruth, who resolutely exclaimed:

"No, a thousand times no! You are the Eletto of Aalst, the pillager of
cities, and this cannot be swept aside as easily as the dust from the
floor. I... I am only a feeble girl;--but father, he will never give his
hand to the blood-stained man in Spanish garb! I know him, I know it."

Ulrich's breath came quicker; but he repressed the angry emotion and
replied, first reproachfully, then beseechingly:

"You are the old man's echo. What does he know of military honor and
warlike fame; but you, Ruth, must understand me. Do you still remember
our sport with the 'word,' the great word that accomplished everything?
I have found it; and you shall enjoy with me what it procures. First
help me appease my father; I shall succeed, if you aid me. It will
doubtless be a hard task. He could not bring himself to forgive his poor
wife--Count Philipp says so;--but now! You see, Ruth, my mother died
a few days ago; she was a dear, loving woman and might have deserved a
better fate.

"I am alone again now, and long for love--so ardently, so sincerely,
more than I can tell you. Where shall I find it, if not with you and my
own father? You have always cared for me; you betray it, and after all
you know I am not a bad man, do you not? Be content with my love and
take me to my father, yourself. Help me persuade him to listen to me. I
have something here which you can give him from me; you will see that it
will soften his heart!"

"Then give it to me," replied Ruth, "but whatever it may be--believe
me, Ulrich, so long as you command the Spanish mutineers, he will remain
hard, hard as his own iron!"

"Spaniards! Mutineers! Nonsense! Whoever wishes to love, can love; the
rest may be settled afterwards. You don't know how high my heart throbs,
now that I am near you, now that I see and hear you. You are my good
angel and must remain so, now look here. This is my mother's legacy.
This little shirt I once wore, when I was a tiny thing, the gay doll was
my plaything, and this gold hoop is the wedding-ring my father gave his
bride at the altar--she kept all these things to the last, and carried
them like holy relics from land to land, from camp to camp. Will you
take these mementos to him?"

S