Franz Creussen was silent for a moment or two, apparently from some emotion of the mind, but at length he answered, in a low tone, "She died that night, Ferdinand. You remember more than I thought, and I doubt not a few words would make you remember much more still. But here we are upon the top of the hill, and if Father George requires you to-night, it will be well for you to ride on quickly, for the day will be dawning ere long."
"I had better go to the castle first," replied Ferdinand; "for if the Count be not on his way to Eppenfeld, he may blame me for delay."
"No need, no need," answered the smith; "he is on the way, I am sure; but we shall find some of the men at the forge, who will tell us. There lies the village, not a hundred yards in advance."
The tidings they received at the blacksmith's dwelling showed, as he had expected, that the Count of Ehrenstein had passed nearly an hour before, and that, having met, farther on, and questioned some of the party to whom Ferdinand owed his deliverance, he had sent back a message by them, commanding his young follower not to join him at Eppenfeld, but to remain at the Castle of Ehrenstein till his return.
Bidding adieu to the smith, with hearty thanks, Ferdinand spurred on alone, but paused for a moment at the chapel in the wood, and knocked at the door of the good priest. At first no answer was returned, but a second summons soon roused Father George from his slumbers, and brought him to the door.
The grey dawn was now beginning to break, and as soon as the priest beheld the face of his young ward, he exclaimed, "Not to-night, Ferdinand, not to-night.--Night do I call it? Heaven help us! it is morning. See you not the sun coming up there? To-morrow night, my boy, as soon as all in the castle are asleep, come down, and bring the lady with you. I pray this Baron of Eppenfeld may keep the Counts before his tower for a day or two."
"I doubt that such will be the case, good Father," answered Ferdinand, "for there is a postern open, and they have tidings of it."
"That is unlucky," said the priest, "but speed you on to the castle, and hide well your purpose from every eye. Let no one see you thoughtful or agitated, and go early to rest, as if you were tired with the labours of the days past. Away, Ferdinand, away."
The young man waved his hand and rode on, and in a few minutes his horse was in front of the great gates. Beckoning to one of the sentinels on the walls, he told him to go down and wake the warder to let him in. But the man came down himself, and unbarred the gates, while Ferdinand, dismounting, led his horse across the draw-bridge.
"Ha! God's benison on you, Master Ferdinand!" said the soldier. "You have luck to get out of the castle of Eppenfeld. How did you manage that?"