“You are the old man’s echo.  What does he know of military honor and warlike fame; but you, Ruth, must understand me.  Do you still remember our sport with the “word,” the great word that accomplished everything?  I have found it; and you shall enjoy with me what it procures.  First help me appease my father; I shall succeed, if you aid me.  It will doubtless be a hard task.  He could not bring himself to forgive his poor wife—­Count Philipp says so;—­but now!  You see, Ruth, my mother died a few days ago; she was a dear, loving woman and might have deserved a better fate.

“I am alone again now, and long for love—­so ardently, so sincerely, more than I can tell you.  Where shall I find it, if not with you and my own father?  You have always cared for me; you betray it, and after all you know I am not a bad man, do you not?  Be content with my love and take me to my father, yourself.  Help me persuade him to listen to me.  I have something here which you can give him from me; you will see that it will soften his heart!”

“Then give it to me,” replied Ruth, “but whatever it may be—­believe me, Ulrich, so long as you command the Spanish mutineers, he will remain hard, hard as his own iron!”

“Spaniards!  Mutineers!  Nonsense!  Whoever wishes to love, can love; the rest may be settled afterwards.  You don’t know how high my heart throbs, now that I am near you, now that I see and hear you.  You are my good angel and must remain so, now look here.  This is my mother’s legacy.  This little shirt I once wore, when I was a tiny thing, the gay doll was my plaything, and this gold hoop is the wedding-ring my father gave his bride at the altar—­she kept all these things to the last, and carried them like holy relics from land to land, from camp to camp.  Will you take these mementos to him?”

She nodded silently.

“Now comes the best thing.  Have you ever seen more beautiful workmanship?  You must wear this necklace, Ruth, as my first gift.”

He held up the costly ornament, but she shrank back, asking bitterly

“Captured booty?”

“In honorable war,” he answered, proudly, approaching to fasten the jewels round her neck with his own hands; but she pushed him back, snatched the ornament, and hurled it on the floor, exclaiming angrily: 

“I loathe the stolen thing.  Pick it up.  It may suit the camp-followers.”

This destroyed his self-control, and seizing both her arms in an iron grasp, he muttered through his clenched teeth: 

“That is an insult to my mother; take it back.”  But Ruth heard and saw nothing; full of indignation she only felt that violence was being done her, and vainly struggled against the irresistible strength, which held her fast.

Meantime the door had opened wide, but neither noticed it until a man’s deep voice loudly and wrathfully exclaimed: 

“Back, you scoundrel!  Come here, Ruth.  This is the way the assassin greets his family; begone, begone! you disgrace of my house!”