“Clever, Hildegunde, but unnecessary. You cannot spur me to action by slighting the well-known valor of our race. I will go where and when you command me, and report to you faithfully what I see and hear. Should the time seem favorable for you to visit Frankfort, and if your guardian consents, I shall raise not even one objection.”
“Oh, dear Father, I do not lay this as a command upon you.”
“No; a request is quite sufficient. To-morrow morning I shall set out.”
“Along the Rhine?” queried the girl, so eagerly that the old man’s eyes twinkled at the celerity with which she accepted his proposition.
“I think it safer,” he said, “to journey inland over the hills. The robbers on the Rhine have been so long bereft of the natural prey that one or other of them may forget I am Father Ambrose, a poor monk, remembering me only as Henry of the rich House of Sayn, and therefore hold me for ransom. I would not willingly be a cause of strife, so I shall go by way of Limburg on the Lahn, and there visit my old friend the Bishop, and enjoy once more a sight of the ancient Cathedral on the cliff by the river.”
When the young Countess awoke next morning, and reviewed in her mind the chief event of the preceding day, remembering the reluctance of Father Ambrose to undertake the quest she had outlined without the consent of his overlord the Archbishop, a feeling of compunction swept over her. She berated her own selfishness, resolving to send her petition to her guardian, the Archbishop, and abide by his decision.
When breakfast was finished, she asked her lady-in-waiting to request the presence of Father Ambrose, but instead of the monk came disturbing news.
“The seneschal says that Father Ambrose left the Castle at daybreak this morning, taking with him frugal rations for a three days’ journey.”
“In which direction did he go?” asked the lady of Sayn.
“He went on horseback up the valley, after making inquiries about the route to Limburg on the Lahn.”