"And your father, Master Gerard, would have my son engage with this Prince Karl for a space. Well, I think it may be good for the lad. For I know well that the shadow of the Red Tower stalks after him through this city of Thorn, and there is no need that he should lie down under it too soon. But this of my little maid is a matter apart, and means a longer and a sorer parting."
"Fear not, my father," cried the Playmate, eagerly, "I would not leave you alone, even to be the Princess of Plassenburg herself."
My father took another strange look from one to the other of the two women, the import of which I understood not then.
"I know not," said he; "I think this thing also might be for the best. As I see it, there are strange times coming upon us in Thorn. And the town of Plassenburg under Karl the Prince is a defenced city, set in a strong province, content and united. It might be wisest that you also should go, little one."
"I cannot go," said Helene, "and leave you alone."
Gottfried Gottfried smiled a sad smile, wistfully pleasant.
"Already I am wellnigh an old man, and it is the nature of my profession that I should be alone. I work among the issues of life and death. Every man must be lonely when he dies, and I, who have lived most with dying men, am perforce already lonely while I live. It is well—a clearer air for the young bird! But yet it will be lonesome to miss you when I come in—the empty pot wanting the flower; the case without the jewel; silence above and below; your voice and Hugo's, that have changed the sombre Red Tower with your young folks' pleasantries, heard no more. Ah, God wot, I had thought—I had dreamed far other things."
He stopped and looked from one to the other of us, and I saw that Ysolinde of the White Gate read his thought. Whereat right suddenly the Little Playmate blushed, and as for me I kept watching the dull gold flash on the spangles of our guest's waist-belt, which was in form like a live serpent, with changeful scales and eyes of ruby red.
My father went over to where Helene sat. She rose to meet him and cast her arms about his neck. He laid his right hand on her head—that terrible hand that was yet not dreadful to us-who loved him.
"Little flower," he said, in his simple way, "God be good to you in the transplanting! It is not fair to your young life that my red stain should lie upon your lot. I have given you a quiet hermitage while you needed it. But now it is right that my house should again be left unto me desolate. It is already late summer with Gottfried Gottfried, and high time that the young brood should fly away."