The traits of passion disappeared from the bishop's features. He advanced towards Alf and said sorrowing, 'thou hast meant well, my son, but God has willed it otherwise.' Then, turning to Oberstein, he proceeded, 'I leave both the deserters to your unfettered disposal, and shall expect from you some indication of what I can do for the youths. I trust you will forget our little misunderstanding, when you recollect in how many ways and how deeply I have been injured by all these enormities, as a man, as a father, as a temporal prince, and as a dignitary of the church.'
Oberstein took the freely offered hand of the bishop, with a reverential bow; after which the latter, with an humble air, passed to an inner apartment of the tent. At the nod of the general, Hanslein's chains fell from him.
'It was hard clearing the gallows this time,' cried Hanslein, shaking himself. 'It shall be a warning to me forever to avoid the spiritual lords. I feared to make myself known to the general, who I supposed would not be able to comprehend my position; and therefore I went to the lord bishop;--but the crook, under which I had hoped safely to repose, had very nearly broken my brain-pan.'
'That also must be an old acquaintance,' said Oberstein, smilingly contemplating the chatterer.
'I now recognise his features. Anxiety about his fate had lengthened them a little.'
'Sure enough,' cried Hanslein, kissing his hand; 'and you, my prince of warriors, have spoken like a man in behalf of an unknown anabaptist, without suspecting that you were under obligations to him for a former service.'
'Follow me now, children,' said the good general, 'and forget in my tent all the trouble you have just experienced, and so put an end to the anxiety of the trembling little bride.'
'With a thousand pleasures!' cried Hanslein; 'besides, it is not good to set up our tabernacle here.' With a few vigorous leaps he found himself before the general's tent. The others followed.
'Perhaps you would like to be married to your little maiden to-day?' Oberstein affectionately asked of Alf, while on their way to the tent. 'There is no lack of monks and preachers in the camp. I will furnish forth the marriage feast, and you may safely reckon upon a magnificent wedding present from the bishop.'
'Until the city is gained,' answered Alf, 'I must postpone the consummation of that holy act. If I should fall in the attack, then would my wife become an early widow, and more unhappy than if she mourned her promised bridegroom only as one betrothed. Besides, I cannot be married with any satisfaction, or really enjoy the greatest festival of my life, until my poor native city is freed from the domination of the devil who now lacerates her with his infernal claws. When good old Munster has found peace and safety I will seek the consummation of my own domestic happiness.'