“Are you not coming with us, Roland?” asked Greusel anxiously.

“No.  Urgent business requires my presence in the neighborhood of Bonn, but I shall meet you in the Kaiser cellar before a month is out.”

Saying this, he shook hands with the captain and Greusel, and descended into the small boat, bidding farewell to Ebearhard.

“Urge them,” were his last words, “to get well out of sight of Pfalz and Furstenberg before the day breaks, and as for the small boats, turn them loose; present them as a peace-offering to the Rhine.”

In the darkness Prince Roland allowed his frail barque to float down the stream, using his paddle merely to keep it toward the east, so to avoid the chain.  He found himself accompanied by a silent, spectral fleet; the empty boats that his men had sent adrift.  To all appearance the little squadron lay motionless, while the dim Castle of Pfalz, with its score of pointed turrets piercing a less dark sky, seemed like a great ship moving slowly up the Rhine.  When it had disappeared to the south, Roland ventured to speak, in a low voice.

“Madam,” he said, “tell your women so to arrange what extra apparel you have brought to form a couch, where you may recline, and sleep for the rest of the night.”

“Captain Roland,” she replied, her gentle little laugh floating with so musical a cadence athwart the waters that he found himself regretting such a sweet voice should be kept from the world by the unappreciative walls of a convent,—­“Captain Roland, I was never more awake than I am at this moment.  Life has somehow become unexpectedly interesting.  I experience the deliciously guilty feeling of belonging to a stealthy society of banditti.  Do not, I beg of you, deprive me of that pleasure by asking me to sleep.”

“In the morning, Madam, there will be little opportunity for rest.  We must put all the distance we can between ourselves and the Pfalzgraf von Stahleck.  I expect you to ride far and fast to-morrow.”

“Do you intend, then, to abandon this boat?”

“I must, Madam.  The river has been long so empty that this flotilla, which I cannot shake off, being unaccustomed to oars or paddle, will attract attention from both sides of the Rhine, and when the darkness lifts we are almost certain to be stopped.  The boats will be recognized as belonging to the Pfalzgraf, and I wish to sever all connection between this night’s work and my own future.”

“What, then, do you propose?”

“As soon as day breaks we will come to land, and allow our boat to float away with the rest.  Can you walk?”

“I love walking,” cried the girl with enthusiasm.  “I ask your pity for myself, immured in that windowless dungeon, situated on a tiny point of rock; I, who have roamed the hills and explored the valleys of my own land on foot, breathing the air of freedom with delight.  Let me, therefore, I beg of you, remain awake that I may taste the pleasure of anticipation in my thoughts; or is such a wish disobedience on the part of your first lieutenant?  I do not mean it so, and will quietly cry myself to sleep if you insist.”