He himself with one soldier for his guard mounts the zigzags with Elspeth, passes beneath the bridge wherefrom he is challenged by the sentry, and stands at the outer gate of Luther's famous asylum.
There is the clank of men-at-arms, the murky flicker of the lanthorns, rattling of bolts, and Nigel is admitted. The guard fears no surprise from a single officer, a single trooper, and a maiden half dead with fatigue, whose stockings are soaked with water, and that the reddened water of the Dragon's Gorge.
Over the stones of the causeway of the outer court, through the arch below the guard-room, they reach the inner courtyard, bathed in the moonlight, serene, still, but for the splashing of the fountain. Beyond, where the white walls of the castle are not, is the limitless night and the limitless sea of tree-tops just flecked by the moonlight.
The doors are opened hospitably and the red glare of fires made visible.
Then the Landgrave himself, the Landgravine, with their gentlemen and ladies, troop into the hall. And almost before Nigel can explain his errand, a lady steps out, tall beyond her fellows, and cries aloud—
"Elspeth! Little Elspeth Reinheit! In what a plight!"
It was Ottilie von Thüringen.