repose upon, do we
find ourselves dashed to earth; and then we are fain to say the grapes
are sour, because we cannot attain them; or worse, to yield to anger in
consequence of our own fault. Sir Ludwig, the Hombourger, was NOT AT THE
OUTER GATE at daybreak.

He slept until ten of the clock. The previous night's potations had been
heavy, the day's journey had been long and rough. The knight slept as a
soldier would, to whom a featherbed is a rarity, and who wakes not till
he hears the blast of the reveille.

He looked up as he woke. At his bedside sat the Margrave. He had been
there for hours watching his slumbering comrade. Watching?--no, not
watching, but awake by his side, brooding over thoughts unutterably
bitter--over feelings inexpressibly wretched.

"What's o'clock?" was the first natural exclamation of the Hombourger.

"I believe it is five o'clock," said his friend. It was ten. It might
have been twelve, two, half-past four, twenty minutes to six, the
Margrave would still have said, "I BELIEVE IT IS FIVE O'CLOCK." The
wretched take no count of time: it flies with unequal pinions, indeed,
for THEM.

"Is breakfast over?" inquired the crusader.

"Ask the butler," said the Margrave, nodding his head wildly, rolling
his eyes wildly, smiling wildly.

"Gracious Bugo!" said the Knight of Hombourg, "what has ailed thee, my
friend? It is ten o'clock by my horologe. Your regular hour is nine.
You are not--no, by heavens! you are not shaved! You wear the tights and
silken hose of last evening's banquet. Your collar is all rumpled--'tis
that of yesterday. YOU HAVE NOT BEEN TO BED! What has chanced, brother
of mine: what has chanced?"

"A common chance, Louis of Hombourg," said the Margrave: "one that
chances every day. A false woman, a false friend, a broken heart. THIS
has chanced. I have not been to bed."

"What mean ye?" cried Count Ludwig, deeply affected. "A false friend? I
am not a false friend. A false woman? Surely the lovely Theodora, your
wife--"

"I have no wife, Louis, now; I have no wife and no son."

*****

In accents broken by grief, the Margrave explained what had occurred.
Gottfried's information was but too correct. There was a CAUSE for the
likeness between Otto and Sir Hildebrandt: a fatal cause! Hildebrandt
and Theodora had met at dawn at the outer gate. The Margrave had seen
them. They walked long together; they embraced. Ah! how the husband's,
the father's, feelings were harrowed at th