Ever since the betrothal, to the sincere sorrow of Els, she had studiously avoided Wolff’s future bride, who had been one of her dearest friends; and Ulrich, Herr Vorchtel’s oldest son, took his sister’s part, and at every opportunity showed Wolff—­who from a child, and also in the battle of Marchfield, had been a favourite comrade—­that he bore him a grudge, and considered his betrothal to any one except Ursula an act of shameful perfidy.

The fair-minded father did not approve of his son’s conduct, for his wife had learned from her daughter that Wolff had never spoken to her of love, or promised marriage.

Therefore, whenever Herr Berthold Vorchtel met Els’s father—­and this often happened in the Council—­he treated him with marked respect, and when there was an entertainment in his house sent him an invitation, as in former years, which Ernst Urtlieb accepted, unless something of importance prevented.

But though the elder Vorchtel was powerless to change his children’s conduct, he never wearied of representing to his son how unjust and dangerous were the attacks with which, on every occasion, he irritated Wolff, whose strength and skill in fencing were almost unequalled in Nuremberg.  In fact, the latter would long since have challenged his former friend had he not been so conscious of his own superiority, and shrunk from the thought of bringing fresh sorrow upon Ursula and her parents, whom he still remembered with friendly regard.

Eva was fond of her future brother-in-law, and it had not escaped her notice that of late something troubled him.

What was it?

She thoughtfully gave the wheel a push, and as it turned swiftly she remembered the Swiss dance the evening before, and suddenly clenched her small right hand and dealt the palm of her left a light blow.

She fancied that she had discovered the cause of Wolff’s depression, for she again saw distinctly before her his sister Isabella’s husband, Sir Seitz Siebenburg, as he swung Countess Cordula around so recklessly that her skirt, adorned with glittering jewels, fluttered far out from her figure.  In the room adjacent to the hall he had flung himself upon his knees before the countess, and Eva fancied she again beheld his big, red face, with its long, thick, yellow mustache, whose ends projected on both sides in a fashion worn by few men of his rank.  The expression of the watery blue eyes, with which he stared Cordula in the face, were those of a drunkard.

To-day he had followed her to the Kadolzburg, and probably meant to spend the night there.  So Wolff had ample reason to be anxious about his sister and her peace of mind.  That must be it!

Perhaps he would yet come that evening, to give Els at least a greeting from the street.  How late was it?

She hastily tried to draw the curtains aside from the window, but this was not accomplished as quickly as she expected—­they had been care fully fastened with pins.  Eva noticed it, and suddenly remembered her father’s whispered words to Els.