“Make way there, you fools!” cried the leader.  “Get ye to the side; into the river; where you like; out of the path of my Lord the Archbishop.”

Nevertheless Roland stood his ground, and dared even to frown at the officers of his Lordship.

“Stand aside you,” he commanded in a tone of mastery, “and do not venture to intrude between the Archbishop and me.”

The rider knew that no man who valued his head would dare use such language in the very presence of the Archbishop, unless he were the highest in the land.  His dignified Lordship looked up to see the cause of this interruption, and of these angry words.

First came into his face an expression of amazement, then a smile melted the stern lips as he looked on Roland and recognized him.  The impetuous horsemen faded away to the background.  There was no answering smile on Roland’s face.  He reached out and clasped the hand of the girl.

“Now, by the Three Kings!” he whispered, “I shall break my oath.”

Hilda glanced up at him, frightened by his vehemence, wincing under his iron grasp.

An unexpected sound interrupted the tension.  The Archbishop had come to a stand, and “Halt!  Halt!  Halt!” rang out the word along the line of men, whose feet ceased to stir the dust of the road.  The unexpected sound was that of hearty laughter from the dignified and mighty Prince of the Church.

“Forgive me, your Highness!” he cried, “but I laugh to think of the countenances of my somber brothers, Treves and Mayence, when they learn how sturdily you have kept your word with them.  By the true Cross, Prince Roland, although we wished you to marry her, we had no thought that you would break into the Castle of Pfalz to win her hand.  Ah, dear, what a pity ’tis we grow old!  The impetuousness of youth outweighs the calculated wisdom of the three greatest prelates outside Rome.  Judging by your fair face (and I have always held it to be beautiful, remember), you, Hildegunde Lauretta Priscilla Agnes, Countess of Sayn, are not moving northward to Nonnenwerth.  I always insisted that the Saalhof at Frankfort was a more cheerful edifice than any nunnery on the Rhine, yet you never turned upon me such a glance of confidence as I see you bestow on your future Emperor.”

“I hope, my Lord and Guardian,” cried the girl, “that I have met you in time to deflect your course to my Castle of Sayn.”

“Sweet Countess, I thank you for the invitation.  My men can go on to their camp in the stronghold of my brother of Mayence, Schloss Martinsburg, and I shall gladly return with you to the hospitable hearth of Sayn.  Indeed,” said the Archbishop, lowering his voice, “I shall feel safer there than in enjoying the hospitality I had intended to accept.”

“Are you not surprised to meet me?” asked the lady, with a laugh, adjusting words and manner to the new situation, which she more quickly comprehended than did her companion, who glanced with bewilderment from Countess to prelate, and back again.