When breakfast was finished, she asked her lady-in-waiting to request the presence of Father Ambrose, but instead of the monk came disturbing news.

“The seneschal says that Father Ambrose left the Castle at daybreak this morning, taking with him frugal rations for a three days’ journey.”

“In which direction did he go?” asked the lady of Sayn.

“He went on horseback up the valley, after making inquiries about the route to Limburg on the Lahn.”

“Ah!” said the Countess.  “He spoke yesterday of taking such a journey, but I did not think he would leave so early.”

This was the beginning of great anxiety for the young lady of the Castle.  She knew at once that pursuit was useless, for daybreak comes early in summer, and already the good Father had been five hours on his way—­a way that he was certain to lose many times before he reached the capital city.  An ordinary messenger might have been overtaken, but the meditative Father would go whither his horse carried him, and when he awoke from his thoughts and his prayers, would make inquiries, and so proceed.  A day or two later came a message that he had achieved the hospitality of Limburg’s bishop, but after that arrived no further word.

Nearly two weeks had elapsed when, from the opposite direction, Hildegunde received a communication which added to her already painful apprehension.  It was a letter from her guardian in Cologne, giving warning that within a week he would call at her Castle of Sayn.

“Matters of great import to you and me,” concluded the Archbishop, “are toward.  You will be called upon to meet formally my two colleagues of Mayence and Treves, at the latter’s strong Castle of Stolzenfels, above Coblentz.  From the moment we enter that palace-fortress, I shall, temporarily, at least, cease to be your guardian, and become merely one of your three overlords.  But however frowningly I may sit in the throne of an Elector, believe me I shall always be your friend.  Tell Father Ambrose I wish to consult with him the moment I arrive at your castle, and that he must not absent himself therefrom on any pretext until he has seen me.”

Here was trouble indeed, with Father Ambrose as completely disappeared as if the dragons of the Taunus had swallowed him.  Never before on his journeys had he failed to communicate with her, even when his travels were taken on account of the Archbishop, and not, as in this case, on her own.  She experienced the darkest forebodings from this incredible silence.  Imagine, then, her relief, when exactly two weeks from the day he had left Schloss Sayn, she saw him coming down the valley.  As when she last beheld him, he traveled on foot, leading his horse, that had gone lame.

Throwing etiquette to the wind, she flew down the stairway, and ran to meet her thrice-welcome friend.

She realized with grief that he was haggard, and the smile he called up to greet her was wan and pitiful.