“Oh, Father, Father!” she cried, “what has happened to you?  I have been nearly distraught with doubt and fear, hearing nothing of you since your message from Limburg.”

“I was made a prisoner,” said the old man quietly, “and allowed to communicate with no one outside my cell.  ’Tis a long and sad story, and, worse than all one that bodes ill for the Empire.  I should have arrived earlier in the day, but my poor, patient beast has fallen lame.”

“Yes!” said the girl indignantly, “and you spare him instead of yourself!”

The monk laid his left hand affectionately on her shoulder.

“You would have done the same, my dear,” he said, and she looked up at him with a sweet smile.  They were kin, and if she censured any quality in him, the comment carried something of self-reproach.

A servitor took away the lame horse; another waited on Father Ambrose in his small room, which was simple as that of a monastery cell, and as meagerly furnished.  After a slight refection, Father Ambrose received peremptory command to rest for three full hours, the lady of the Castle saying it was impossible for her to receive him until that time had elapsed.  The order was welcome to the tired monk, although he knew how impatient Hildegunde must be to unpack his budget of news, and he fell asleep even as he gave instructions that he should be awakened at nine.

Descending at that time, the supper hour of the Castle, he found a dainty meal awaiting him, flanked by a flagon of that rare wine which he sipped so sparingly.

“I lodged with my brethren in their small and quiet monastery on the opposite side of the Main from Frankfort, in that suburb of the workingmen which is called Sachsenhausen.  Even if my eyes had not seen the desolation of the city, with the summer grass growing in many of its streets, the description given of its condition by my brethren would have been saddening enough to hear.  All authority seems at an end.  The nobles have fled to their country estates, for defense in the city is impossible should once a universal riot break out, and thinking men look for an insurrection when continued hunger has worn down the patience of the people.  Up to the present sporadic outbreaks have been cruelly suppressed, starving men falling mutilated before the sword-cuts of the soldiers; but now disaffection has penetrated the ranks of the Army itself, through short rations and deferred pay, and when the people learn that the military are more like to join them than oppose, destruction will fall upon Frankfort.  The Emperor sits alone in drunken stupor, and it is said cannot last much longer, he who has lasted too long already; while the Empress is as much a recluse as a nun in a convent.”

“But the young Prince?” interrupted the Countess.  “What of him?  Is there no hope if he comes to the throne?”

“Ah!” cried the monk, with a long-drawn sigh, dolefully shaking his head.