Immediately they ranked, and followed zealously through the buds of young bushes, and over heaps of damp dead leaves, a half-hour’s scramble, when they defiled under Hammerstein, and stood before the Rhine.  Their leader led up the river, and after a hasty walk, stopped, loosened his hood, and stripped.

‘Now,’ said he, strapping the bundle to his back, ’let me know the hound that refuses to follow his leader when the White Rose is in danger.’

‘Long live Dietrich!’ they shouted.  He dropped from the bank, and waded in.  He was soon supported by the remainder of the striplings, and all struck out boldly into mid-stream.

Never heard history of a nobler Passage of the Rhine than this made between Andernach and Hammerstein by members of the White Rose Club, bundle on back, to relieve the White Rose of Germany from thrall and shame!

They were taken far down by the rapid current, and arrived panting to land.  The dressing done, they marched up the pass of Tonnistein, and took a deep draught at the spring of pleasant waters there open to wayfarers.  Arrived at the skirts of Laach, they beheld two farmer peasants lashed back to back against a hazel.  They released them, but could gain no word of information, as the fellows, after a yawn and a wink, started off, all heels, to make sure of liberty.  On the shores of the lake the brotherhood descried a body of youths, whom they hailed, and were welcomed to companionship.

‘Where’s Berthold?’ asked Dietrich.

He was not present.

‘The more glory for us, then,’ Dietrich said.

It was here seriously put to the captain, whether they should not halt at the abbey, and reflect, seeing that great work was in prospect.

‘Truly,’ quoth Dietrich, ’dying on an empty stomach is heathenish, and cold blood makes a green wound gape.  Kaiser Conrad should be hospitable, and the monks honour numbers.  Here be we, thirty and nine; let us go!’

The West was dark blue with fallen light.  The lakewaters were growing grey with twilight.  The abbey stood muffled in shadows.  Already the youths had commenced battering at the convent doors, when they were summoned by the voice of the Goshawk on horseback.  To their confusion they beheld the White Rose herself on his right hand.  Chapfallen Dietrich bowed to his sweet mistress.

‘We were coming to the rescue,’ he stammered.

A laugh broke from the Goshawk.  ’You thought the lady was locked up in the ghostly larder; eh!’

Dietrich seized his sword, and tightened his belt.

‘The Club allows no jesting with the White Rose, Sir Stranger.’

Margarita made peace.  ’I thank you all, good friends.  But quarrel not, I pray you, with them that save me at the risk of their lives.’

‘Our service is equal,’ said the Goshawk, flourishing, ’Only we happen to be beforehand with the Club, for which Farina and myself heartily beg pardon of the entire brotherhood.’