through Meister
Gottlieb von Passau, the Emperor Rudolph's protonotary. He had told
Cordula, with a resolute air, that it contained the charge that Sir
Heinz Schorlin had found his way into his house at night, and would
not even suffer her to finish her entreaty to omit the accusation. "And
now," the countess added mournfully, "I urge you, to whom the young girl
is dear, to consider the pitiable manner in which, by her own father's
folly, Eva's name will be on the tongues of the whole court, and
what the gossips throughout the city will say about the poor child in
connection with such an accusation."

Frau Pfinzing sighed heavily, and rose, but her husband, who perceived
her intention, stopped her with the remark that it would be useless
to go that day, for the sun was already setting and the watchtower was
closed at nightfall.

This induced the matron to return to her seat; but she had scarcely
touched the easy-chair ere she again rose and told the servant to saddle
the big bay. She would ride to the city on horseback this time; the
bearers moved too slowly. Then turning to her husband, she said gaily:

"I thank you for the excuse you have made for me, but I cannot use it in
this case. My foolish brother must on no account make the charge which
will expose his daughter; it would be a serious misfortune were I to
arrive too late. What is the use of being the wife of the imperial
magistrate, if a Nuremberg drawbridge cannot be raised for me even after
sunset? If the petition has already gone, I must see Meister Gottlieb.
True, it was not to be sent until to-morrow, but there is nothing
of which we are more glad to rid ourselves than the disagreeable
transactions from which we shrink. Give me a pass for the warder,
Pfinzing; and you, Countess, excuse me; it is you who send me away."

Whilst the maid brought her headkerchief and her cloak, and the
magistrate in a low tone told he servant to have his horse ready, too,
Frau Christine asked Cordula to bring Eva from the hospital, if she felt
no disgust at the sight of common people suffering from wounds.

"The huts of our wood-cutters, labourers, and fishermen look cleaner,
it is true, than the hovels of the charcoal burners and quarrymen in
the Montfort forests and mountains; yet none of them are perfumed with
sandal-wood and attar of roses, and the blow of the axe which gashes one
of our wood-cutter's flesh presents a similar spectacle to the wounds
which your criminal