'Fore God I denied not my love, though I own I have many a time been less tempted, and yet have lied back and forth like a Frankfort Jew.
"Yes," said I, "I think so."
"You love her, then?" said the Lady Ysolinde, rising quickly to her feet; "and you told me that you loved none in this city."
"I love her, indeed," I said. "She is my little sister. As you mean love, I do not love her. But I love her notwithstanding. All my life I have never thought of doing anything else. And that she is beautiful, all who have eyes in their head may see."
This appeased her somewhat. I think it must have been looking for my fortune in the crystal and the ink-pool that made her so eager to know all that concerned me—which none had ever been so importunate to find out before.
"I must come and see this Little Playmate of yours," she said. "It is an ill-done thing that so fair a maid should be shut up in the tower of such a pagan castle—the Wolfsberg; it is indeed well named. Word has reached me to-day that the Princess of Plassenburg has need of a bower maiden. Now the Princess can make her choice from many noble families. But if the Little Playmate be as beautiful as you say, 'tis high time that she should not be left immured in the Red Tower of the Wolfsberg. True, the Duke, like a careful man, neither makes nor mells with womankind. 'Tis his only virtue. But any questing Ritterling or roaring free companion might bear her off."
"I think not," said I, smiling, "so long as the Red Axe of the Mark has a polished edge and Gottfried Gottfried can send it sheer through an ox's neck as he stands chewing the cud."
I hardly think that I ever boasted of my father's prowess before. And, indeed, I had some skill in the axe-play myself, but only in the way of sport.
"All one," said Ysolinde. "Your father, like great Caesar and Duke Casimir, is but mortal, and may stumble across the wooden stump some day himself and find his neck-bone in twain! None so wise that he can tell when the Silent Rider shall meet him in the wood, leading by the bridle the pale horse whose name is Death, and beckoning him to mount and ride."
The Lady Ysolinde paused a while, touching her lips thoughtfully with her fingers.