resembling that lavished on a favorite son. Her writings now and
then betray an affection of a quality so motherly that I came to believe
she was much older than the great Churchman, but then there is the fact
that she long outlived him, so it is possible she may have been the
younger."

"Why, my Lord, are you about to weave us a romance?"

The Archbishop smiled, and for a moment placed his hand upon hers, which
rested on the table beside him.

"A romance, perhaps, between myself and the Countess of long ago, for as
I read these letters I used much of their contents for my own guidance,
and found her precepts as wise to-day as they were in 1250, and to me
... to me," the Archbishop sighed, "she seems to live again. Yes, I
confess my ardent regard for her, and if you call that romance, it is
surely of a very innocent nature."

"But the other Archbishop? Your predecessor, the friend of Matilda; what
of him?"

"There, Hildegunde, I have much less evidence to go upon, for his
letters, if they exist, are concealed somewhere in the archives of Sayn
Castle."

"To-morrow," cried the girl, "I shall robe myself in the oldest garments
I possess, and will rummage those dusty archives until I find the
letters of him who was Archbishop in 1250."

"I have bestowed that task upon one less impulsive. Father Ambrose is
the searcher, and he and I will put our wise old heads together in
consultation over them before entrusting them to the perusal of that
impetuous young noblewoman, the present Countess von Sayn."

The impetuous person referred to brought down her hand with a peremptory
impact upon the table, and exclaimed emphatically:

"My Lord Archbishop, I shall read those letters to-morrow."

Once more the Archbishop placed his hand on hers, this time, however,
clasping it firmly in his own. There was no smile on his face as he said
gravely:

"My lady, to-morrow you will face three living Archbishops, more
difficult, perhaps, to deal with than one who is dust."

"Three!" she cried, startled, a gleam of apprehension troubling her fine
eyes. "My Lords of Mayence, Treves, and yourself? Are they coming here?"

"The conclave of the Archbishops will be held at Castle Stolzenfels, the
Rhine residence of my brother of Treves."

"Why is this Court convened?"

"That will be explained to you, Hildegunde, by his Highness of Mayence.
I did not intend to speak to you about this until later, so I will
merely say that there is noth