The girl looked up at the young man, and he caught his breath and clasped her hand more tightly as he gazed into the depths of her glorious eyes.
“You must go,” she sighed.
“Yes, alas!”
He raised her unresisting hand to his lips, and again turned his horse.
“You will obey?” asked the Archbishop.
“I will obey, my Lord.”
He flashed from its scabbard, into the rays of the setting sun, the sword he had made, and elevating the hilt to his forehead, saluted the Archbishop.
“I shall see you at Ehrenfels, my Lord.”
“Ah, do not go thus. Come to the Castle for an hour’s rest at least.”
The young man whirled his sword around, and caught it by the blade, touching the hilt with his lips as if it were a cross.