f the Royal lovers of Gutenfels!"

The Archbishop's eyes twinkled as he looked across the table at
Hildegunde.

"This seems to be a time of Royal betrothals," he said, raising his
flagon.

"'Seems' is the right word, Guardian," replied the Countess.

Then she sipped the ancient wine of Caub.

Next morning Hildegunde was early afoot. Notwithstanding her trouble of
mind, she had slept well, and awakened with the birds, so great is the
influence of youth and health. During her last conscious moments the
night before, as she lay in the stately bed of the most noble room the
Castle contained, she bitterly accused herself for the disastrous
failure of the previous day. The Archbishop of Cologne had given her
good counsel that was not followed, and his disappointment with the
result, generously as he endeavored to conceal it, was doubtless the
deeper because undiscussed. Thinking of coming captivity, a dream of
grim Pfalz was expected, but instead the girl's spirit wandered through
the sweet seclusion of Nonnenwerth, living again that happy, earlier
time, free from politics and the tramp of armed men.

In the morning the porter, at her behest, withdrew bolt, bar, and chain,
allowing exit into the fresh, cool air, and skirting the Castle, she
arrived at a broad terrace which fronted it. A fleecy mist extending
from shore to shore concealed the waters of the Rhine, and partially
obliterated the little village of Caub at the foot of the hill. Where
she stood the air was crystal clear, and she seemed to be looking out on
a broad snow-field of purest white. Beyond Caub its surface was pierced
by the dozen sharp pinnacles of her future prison, looking like a bed of
spikes, upon which one might imagine a giant martyr impaled by the
verdict of a cruel Archbishop.

Gazing upon this nightmare Castle, whose tusks alone were revealed, the
girl formulated the resolution but faintly suggested the night before.
On her release should ensue an abandonment of the world, and the
adoption of a nun's veil in the convent opposite Drachenfels, an island
exchanged for an island; turmoil for peace.

At breakfast she met again the jovial Count Palatine, and her more sober
guardian, who both complimented her on the results of her beauty rest,
the one with great gallantry, the other with more reserve, as befitted a
Churchman. The Archbishop seemed old and haggard in the morning light,
and it was not difficult to guess that no beauty sleep had so