‘Enough!  I go!’ said Farina.

‘You leave me?’ Margarita looked tender reproach.  Weariness and fierce excitement had given a liquid flame to her eyes and an endearing darkness round their circles that matched strangely with her plump youth.  Her features had a soft white flush.  She was less radiant, but never looked so bewitching.  An aspect of sweet human languor caught at the heart of love, and raised tumults.

‘It is a duty,’ said Farina.

‘Then go,’ she beckoned, and held her hand for him to kiss.  He raised it to his lips.  This was seen of all the Club.

As they were departing with Farina, and Guy prepared to demand admittance into the convent, Dietrich chanced to ask how fared Dame Lisbeth.  Schwartz Thier was by, and answered, with a laugh, that he had quite forgotten the little lady.

’We took her in mistake for you, mistress!  She was a one to scream!  The moment she was kissed—­mum as a cloister.  We kissed her, all of us, for the fun of it.  No harm—­no harm!  We should have dropped her when we found we had the old bird ’stead of the young one, but reckoned ransom, ye see.  She’s at the Eck, rattling, I’s wager, like last year’s nut in the shell!’

‘Lisbeth!  Lisbeth! poor Lisbeth; we will return to her.  Instantly,’ cried Margarita.

‘Not you,’ said Guy.

‘Yes!  I!’

‘No!’ said Guy.

‘Gallant Goshawk! best of birds, let me go!’

’Without me or Farina, never!  I see I shall have no chance with my lord now.  Come, then, come, fair Irresistible! come, lads.  Farina can journey back alone.  You shall have the renown of rescuing Dame Lisbeth.’

‘Farina! forget not to comfort my father,’ said Margarita.

Between Margarita’s society and Farina’s, there was little dispute in the captain’s mind which choice to make.  Farina was allowed to travel single to Cologne; and Dietrich, petted by Margarita, and gently jeered by Guy, headed the Club from Laach waters to the castle of the Robber Baron.

THE BACK-BLOWS OF SATHANAS

Monk Gregory was pacing the high road between the Imperial camp and suffering Cologne.  The sun had risen through interminable distances of cloud that held him remote in a succession of receding mounds and thinner veils, realm beyond realm, till he showed fireless, like a phantom king in a phantom land.  The lark was in the breast of morning.  The field-mouse ran along the furrows.  Dews hung red and grey on the weedy banks and wayside trees.  At times the nostril of the good father was lifted, and he beat his breast, relapsing into sorrowful contemplation.  Passed-any citizen of Cologne, the ghostly head sunk into its cowl.  ’There’s a black raven!’ said many.  Monk Gregory heard them, and murmured, ’Thou hast me, Evil one! thou hast me!’

It was noon when Farina came clattering down from the camp.