rehammers. The soldiers without
shouted, and the men within more feebly replied.

I came in sight of the gate. There on my left hand was the house of
Master Gerard von Sturm.

A fire was still flickering upon the tower of it.

Without I could hear the cheering and clamoring of the besiegers. But the
gates remained obstinately shut. They were stronger than the Prince had
anticipated.

As _I_ stood, uncertain what to do, I saw a slim white figure, the figure
of a woman, flash across the open space towards the gate. The men who
defended the gate towers were all upon the top of the wall. Before any
could stop her she had thrown herself upon the wheel by which the bars
were unfastened, and with a few turns had drawn them as deftly as evil
Duke Casimir had been wont to remove the teeth of the rich Hebrew folk
when he wanted supplies.

The White Gate slowly opened upon creaking hinges. The faces of the
soldiers of Plassenburg were seen without, the weapons gleamed in their
hands as they came on shouting fiercely. The guards of the Duke rushed
forward to close the gate. But the woman had clamped the wheel and stood
holding the bar.

It was the Lady Ysolinde. She saw me as the soldiers of Duke Otho closed
threateningly upon her. She waved her hand to me almost happily.

"_I have saved my soul, Hugo Gottfried_!" she cried. "_I have saved
my soul_!"

At that moment a soldier of the Black Riders struck her fiercely with his
lance. I saw the white bosom of her dress redden as he plucked his weapon
to him again. I was in time to catch her in my arms as the soldiers of
Plassenburg, with Prince Karl at their head, came through the White Gate
like a spring-tide, carrying all before them.

The Prince stayed at his wife's side.

"Ysolinde!" cried the Prince, aghast, bending over her--not heeding, nor
indeed, as I think, even seeing me.

"Karl!" she said, looking gently at him, "try and forgive me all the
rest. But be glad that I opened the White Gate for yon. I, Ysolinde, your
wife, did it for your sake."

I put her into her husband's arms. I saw at a glance that there was no
hope. She could not live many moments with that lance-thrust through
her breast.

She looked at him again.

"Karl--say 'Ysolinde, I love you!'" she whispered, almost shyly.

He looked down, and a rush of unwonted tears came to the eyes of the
Prince of Plassenburg.

"Ysolinde, I love you!" he made answer, in a broken voice.

She smiled, and the