“Yes.”

“Are you entitled to perform the ceremony?”

“Yes.”

“Is it possible this ceremony can be performed to-morrow?”

“Yes.”

“Will you therefore attend to the necessary preliminaries, of which I am vastly ignorant, and say at what hour the Countess and I may present ourselves in this chapel?”

“The Archbishop of Cologne is guardian to her ladyship.  Will you bring me his sanction?”

“Ah, Father Ambrose, there is just the point.  So far as concerns himself I doubt not that the Archbishop is the most unambitious of men, but to the marriage of his ward with a sword maker I fear he would refuse consent which he would gladly give to a marriage with an Emperor.”

The monk hung his head, and pondered on the proposition.  At last he said: 

“Why not ask my Lord the Archbishop?”

“I dare not venture.  Too much is at stake.  She might be carried away to any castle in Germany.  Remember that Cologne has already acquiesced in her imprisonment, and but that the iron chain of the Pfalzgraf brought me to her prison door—­The iron chain, do I say?  ’Twas the hand of God that directed me to her, and now, with the help of Him who guided me, not all the Archbishops in Christendom shall prevent our marriage.  No, Father Ambrose, pile on yourself all the futile penances you can adopt.  They are useless, for they do not remedy the wrong you have committed.  And now, good-night to your Reverence!”

The young man strode towards the door.

“My son,” said the quiet voice of the priest, “when you were on your knees just now did you pray for remission from anger?”

Roland whirled round.

"Mea culpa, as you said just now.  Father Ambrose, I ask your pardon.  I made an unfair use of your mistake to coerce you.  You were quite right in relating what your own eyes saw here in Frankfort, and although the inference drawn was wrong, you were not to blame for that.  I recognize your scruples, but nevertheless protest that already I possess the sanction of the Archbishop, which has never been withdrawn.”

“Prince Roland, if you bring hither the Countess von Sayn to-morrow afternoon, when the bells strike three, I will marry you, and gladly accept whatever penances ensue.  I fear the monk’s robe has not crushed out all the impulses of the Sayn blood.  In my case, perhaps, it has only covered them.  And now, good-night, and God’s blessing fall upon you and her you are to marry.”

Roland went directly from the chapel to his own room, where he slept the sleep of one who has made up his mind.  Nevertheless, it was not a dreamless sleep, for throughout the night he seemed to hear the tramp of armed men marching upon unconscious Frankfort, and this sound was so persistent, that at last he woke, yet still it continued.  Springing up in alarm, and flinging wide the wooden shutters of his window, he was amazed to see that the sun was already high, while the sound that disturbed him was caused by a procession of heavy-footed horses, dragging over the cobble-stones carts well-laden with farm produce.