s certain to lose many times before he reached the
capital city. An ordinary messenger might have been overtaken, but the
meditative Father would go whither his horse carried him, and when he
awoke from his thoughts and his prayers, would make inquiries, and so
proceed. A day or two later came a message that he had achieved the
hospitality of Limburg's bishop, but after that arrived no further word.

Nearly two weeks had elapsed when, from the opposite direction,
Hildegunde received a communication which added to her already painful
apprehension. It was a letter from her guardian in Cologne, giving
warning that within a week he would call at her Castle of Sayn.

"Matters of great import to you and me," concluded the Archbishop, "are
toward. You will be called upon to meet formally my two colleagues of
Mayence and Treves, at the latter's strong Castle of Stolzenfels, above
Coblentz. From the moment we enter that palace-fortress, I shall,
temporarily, at least, cease to be your guardian, and become merely one
of your three overlords. But however frowningly I may sit in the throne
of an Elector, believe me I shall always be your friend. Tell Father
Ambrose I wish to consult with him the moment I arrive at your castle,
and that he must not absent himself therefrom on any pretext until he
has seen me."

Here was trouble indeed, with Father Ambrose as completely disappeared
as if the dragons of the Taunus had swallowed him. Never before on his
journeys had he failed to communicate with her, even when his travels
were taken on account of the Archbishop, and not, as in this case, on
her own. She experienced the darkest forebodings from this incredible
silence. Imagine, then, her relief, when exactly two weeks from the day
he had left Schloss Sayn, she saw him coming down the valley. As when
she last beheld him, he traveled on foot, leading his horse, that had
gone lame.

Throwing etiquette to the wind, she flew down the stairway, and ran to
meet her thrice-welcome friend.

She realized with grief that he was haggard, and the smile he called up
to greet her was wan and pitiful.

"Oh, Father, Father!" she cried, "what has happened to you? I have been
nearly distraught with doubt and fear, hearing nothing of you since your
message from Limburg."

"I was made a prisoner," said the old man quietly, "and allowed to
communicate with no one outside my cell. 'Tis a long and sad story, and,
worse than all one that bodes ill for t